


A Rose By Another Name

by Sierradactyl



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bard Dragonborn - Freeform, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, Trapped in Skyrim, music-heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierradactyl/pseuds/Sierradactyl
Summary: (On Hiatus)Rosalin Faragher didn't think her life was hard. She could cook, play a handful of instruments, and she was pretty enough that guys would buy her a drink every now and then. She may be the black sheep of her family for pursuing music instead of becoming a housewife, but she didn't mind so long as the Boston Symphony paid her well. She would spend her free time getting lost in the world of the Elder Scrolls series, wishing she could be a hero-bard of legend like her characters.Apparently, if you spill enough beer on your laptop, the game becomes reality.





	1. A Whole New World

            The wind blew something fierce that day. Leaves of all different shades of brown and gold swirled about my feet while I walked as if they were trying to usher me towards my destination. The laughter of three children running through a pile of leaves tickled my ears and I smiled to myself. It was a beautiful, blustery fall day in Massachusetts. All around me, the Berkshires were changing from their deep green hues of summer to the warm palette of autumn. The smell of lavender and sage hit me as I neared my property. My garden was on its last legs, but it was still beautiful. I hurried down my lane towards my little cottage, pulled my keys out of my coat pocket and unlocked the faded yellow door. Silence greeted me, and I let out a sigh.

“I’m home, lovelies!” I called out, hanging my coat on the rack behind the door and padding into the living area. The faint smell of rosin, wood polish, and coffee stained the air. On various stands throughout the space sat my housemates - a violin, a ukulele, two guitars, and in the corner stood an upright piano. I made my money playing for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and we had a show in three days. I knew I should practice more, but if I played one more measure of Vivaldi I would lose my mind.

I left the living area to go to my bedroom where I booted up my laptop. Almost immediately, I shed my shoes. It was chilly in my house, so I threw on a hoodie and wrangled my copper-colored hair up into a bun I was just settling in when my phone buzzed. A call from my mother? I knew where this was going, but I answered it anyways.

“Yes, Ma?”

“Rosalin!” she cried into my ear. I winced at the piercing volume of her voice. “How are ye, my wee flower?”

“I’m fine, ma. How’re ye? Can ye make it to the concert?” I asked, making small talk even though I already knew her answer.

“Ach, I’m sorry little one, but I just cannae do it. It’s such a long way, and I promised yer sister I’d help her with the babes. Next time though, yeah?”

Of course. The biggest performance of the year, and she chooses to babysit for my sister. I hold back my sigh. My sister was undoubtedly her favorite child, living the life that my Ma always wanted for us. Staying at home, popping out and raising babies for ages while our menfolk work nine to five to support us. Just like she did, just like her mother did, and her mother’s mother back in Ireland. All her children got it right, except for me. John, Patrick, Eoghan, and Sabrina lived up to our mother’s expectations perfectly while I chose to fancy my instruments instead of the cute footballer that asked me to homecoming my freshman year of high school.

“Aye, Ma. Next time,” I said, forcing myself to sound nonchalant. I said my goodbyes to her and found myself with the insatiable urge to get drunk. I grabbed a beer from the kitchen fridge and settled back into my cushy chair. Enjoying my horrible posture, I launched Skyrim and cracked open my pint.

No more than two minutes into the game did I manage to spill beer on the keyboard. Cursing myself and my clumsiness, I desperately tried to blot the liquid with my shirt which made my character jump around and run in various directions around Jorrvaskr. I suppose it would have looked silly to any NPC’s who were watching, but I was more focused on saving my expensive equipment. My poor laptop began sparking, catching my fingers with jolts of unpleasant electricity. The sparks didn’t stop at my fingers, though. They traveled up my arm in little ropes like curling snakes headed straight for my heart. As the blue lights danced across my chest, my world faded to black. I just hoped I didn’t spill the rest of my beer too badly when I fainted.

†———————†

            Before I opened my eyes, I knew I wasn’t on the floor of my cottage. I wasn’t in my cottage at all. Wherever I was smelled like a mixture between a bakery and a locker room that hadn’t been cleaned in years. I really hoped I was dreaming, or that this was a prank being played on me by my stand partner. After a few deep breaths, I felt brave enough to open my eyes. Whatever was going on, it was way outside the imagination limit of anyone in my orchestra.

            I found myself lying on a bed with a straw mattress that was covered haphazardly with furs. The room was all stone with a curved ceiling, and I was close enough to spot some clefts in the grouting where countless fingers had been picking at it for thousands of years. I knew what building I was in, but the decorations gave away whose room it was. There was a bar at one end of the room with various bottles lined up on the shelves behind it. The reality of my situation sunk in further when I found myself recognizing some of the labels, specifically ones with thorns and ones with a beehive. Some large weapons sat atop the bar as if their wielder simply put them down for a moment and forgot they existed. This should be impossible.

            “You’re awake,” spoke a voice from my bedside. I shut my eyes tight, fighting the rising panic in my chest. _Deep breaths_ , I thought to myself. _In, and out_. I opened my eyes again. No luck, I was still there. I cleared my throat before turning to face the werewolf in the chair next to me.

            “This is Jorrvaskr, aye?” I asked him, praying he wouldn’t say yes.

            “Yup,” he confirmed.

            “And yer Farkas?”

            “Yup.”

            “Fuck,” I swore, causing him to raise a brow. “Have ye got any idea how I ended up here?

            “Nope. Found you out cold on the floor.”

            “Oh, for Chrissake. I’m so sorry, pup. I promise I’ll tell ye everything. Can ye go get the rest of the Circle first? No doubt they’re listenin’ in, they’ll already have smelled an intruder,” I told him. I saw him stiffen at the allusion to the beastblood. He narrowed his eyes at me and stood.

            “Wait here,” was all he said before he briskly left the room. I hoped I hadn’t just doomed myself.

            Farkas returned a few minutes later with Vilkas, Aela, Kodlak, and Skjor in tow. The five of them managed to cram themselves into the room and then all eyes were on me. I very much felt like I was an outsider to this pack that surrounded me, even though I knew them better than they knew each other thanks to the Skyrim Wiki. The white-haired Harbinger settled into the chair next to me with Vilkas standing protectively at his back. Seeing Kodlak in the flesh was a bittersweet affair. I knew I would have to value whatever time I could get with him before the Silver Hand killed him.

            “Farkas tells me you appeared from nowhere, and that you know much more than you should,” the wizened old warrior rumbled gently. His voice sent a wave of calm through me, reminding me of my Grandpappy back home. “Who are you, girl? Best tell us the whole truth, now. We’ll know if you lie to us.”

            “My name is Rosalin Faragher. It’s true, I know who all of ye are. What ye are. It doesn’t bother me none, don’t worry. I know almost everything about Skyrim, and what’s happening here. The war, the vampire uprising, the return of Miraak. I’m not from this world,” I explained. After a moment of silence, Aela let out a harsh laugh.

            “That’s ridiculous. Harbinger, we should just kill her. She knows too much,” she sneered. I sighed.

            “She’s probably Silver Hand,” Skjor agreed.

            “I know ye won’t believe me without proof. In my world, everything here is a game. Ye create a character and play as the Dragonborn. I actually joined the Companions in it. I first met ye, Aela, when I came to the Pelagia Farm about thirty seconds too late to help ye, Farkas, and Ria with a giant that was attacking. Ye were pretty rude about it.”

            Aela raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. Farkas tried to hide his smirk with a cough.

            “What can I do to prove to ye I’m not crazy or lying?” I asked, turning to Kodlak. He furrowed his brow in thought.

            “I feel that you aren’t lying, lass. Or at least, you believe what you say. I suppose you could answer some questions. Ones that no one but us would know,” Kodlak mused. I nodded in agreement, eager to earn their trust.

            “Anything. Go ahead, any of ye.”

            “What’s my brother’s biggest fear?” Vilkas asked. Farkas narrowed his eyes.

            “Besides Aela? Frostbite spiders,” I smiled at them. Skjor snorted and even Aela let out a guffaw.

            “Really, Farkas? Spiders? What are you, six years old?” the redhead smirked with a laugh still evident in her voice. The taller twin frowned at her.

            “It’s not funny,” he growled.

            “Don’t worry yourself none,” I grinned at him. “Vilkas is scared of Dwemer ruins. He thinks they’re haunted!”

            This had Aela doubled over in laughter. Vilkas whipped his head around to face me, a deadly scowl on his face. I simply smiled at him innocently.

            “What? It’s true. Anyone else have a question?”

            It was at this moment when music filled the room seemingly from nowhere. I couldn’t believe it. Slowly, I pulled my phone from my hoodie pocket and silenced the alarm telling me to get off Skyrim and go to sleep. The Companions’ faces were filled with suspicion and awe.

            “What is that?” Farkas asked, wide-eyed with wonder at the small rectangle in my hand.

            “It’s called a cell phone. In my world, people use them to talk to each other from far away. They can also keep a list of things to do, find things for ye, tell ye what the weather will be later in the week, play games, takes notes, take pictures and videos, and play music,” I explained to the group. “What my phone just did was activate an alarm to tell me to go to sleep. It’s night time in my world, I suppose. I had that alarm set for midnight.”

            This revelation had clearly rattled the more skeptical pack members. Skjor’s brow had furrowed deeply, and Aela looked perturbed. They had been sure I was a liar, and the presence of this otherworldly technology leant validity to my story.

            “I promise I’ll show ye all the phone later, but does anyone else have a question?”

            “Yeah, I got one,” rumbled Skjor. My heart rate increased, and I knew they could hear it. “Do people in your world not believe in shoes?”

            That was that, then. They believed me. I felt relief come over me like a tsunami, and once again my face broke into a smile. Then I realized I wouldn’t have anywhere to go if I left Jorrvaskr. The Circle could obviously sense my distress.

            “What is it, pup?” Kodlak asked with a frown.

            “I, ah, don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t think I can go back home. I don’t even know how it would be possible. God, my director is going to fire me for this!” I started to babble as tears welled at the corners of my eyes.

            “Hmm, that is a problem. Since you’ve no home and no job, you could stay here and work for the Companions,” the old wolf offered, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. My eyes widened.

            “Really? I-I’m no fighter, but I could help Tilma cook and clean. And I’m a musician! I could entertain ye all, if ye like. I can play quite a few instruments, but I don’t think they have them here. Violin, ukulele, guitar, piano. I sing, too,” I rambled as various ideas flew in and out of my brain, none of them really sticking too well.

            “Very well. Seven-hundred and fifty septims per week in exchange for aiding Tilma with the upkeep of Jorrvaskr and becoming our resident bard,” I moved to interrupt about the high payment, but the white-haired man waved me off. “We’ll see about setting up quarters for you. In the meantime, go see Tilma and fill her in. Help her with dinner while Vilkas here cleans out a spare room for you. Oh, and keep the business of your origin quiet for now,” Kodlak ordered gently, and I smiled.

            “Of course. Thank'ee, sir. Truly.”

            From there, I got up off Farkas’s bed and made my way into Jorrvaskr’s main hall. To my surprise, things looked different than the vanilla game. There was an extra section of rooms between Kodlak’s room and the Circle’s rooms that was not there before. I popped my head back into Farkas’s chambers.

            “Um, where am I going, exactly? Things look different than they do at home,” I asked with an embarrassed flush rising to my cheeks. Farkas looked up from his bar and smiled.

            “Here, I’ll show you,” he replied. The enormous man led me down the hall to the new rooms. He turned to the left hallway and pointed at a door. “That’s Tilma’s room. If she’s not in there, she’ll be in the kitchen. That’s over on the other side, the door across from the bathing room.”

            I grinned up at him. “Thank'ee, Farkas. Yer no icebrain after all.”

            Farkas scratched his beard to hide the red creeping to his cheeks. “Ah, no problem Ross-lin.”

            I had to laugh at the way he butchered my name. “Rosalin. Say it with me now, pup. Ross-a-lin.”

            He tried for two minutes until he got frustrated and gave up, with me holding back giggles the whole time.

            “Whatever. See you later, Rosie,” he grumbled, stalking back to his room with a huff. I smiled at his retreating figure, still not believing my situation, then turned to find Tilma.


	2. Master of the House

        I checked my list again as the clamor of the market fought for my attention. I had already dropped off several baskets full of fruits and vegetables back at Jorrvaskr and was now in need of several cuts of meat. A brisk breeze lifted the skirt of the [thickly layered linen dress](https://shoplook.io/outfit-preview/460591) I had borrowed from Tilma. My hand rested atop the worn leather satchel on my hip where the money for Jorrvaskr’s food was safely tucked away. According to the kindly old maid, my next destination would be the little town of Frostfield. The tastiest beef cattle were sold there, apparently. Before I left the city, however, I climbed the steps to the Skyforge to see Eorlund Gray-Mane.

“Hello, Master Gray-Mane,” I called out to the sweaty, muscled man. He glanced up from his forge but didn’t cease his work. I frowned slightly at his standoffishness. I knew it from the game, but it was still disheartening. “Um, I have work to discuss with ye, sir.”

“Ain’t a sir,” he scoffed. After a moment, he put his hammer and tongs aside and stood up straight to face me. “What do you need, girl?”

“My name is Rosalin,” I said by way of introduction. “I’m working for the Companions now. Sort of as Tilma’s apprentice? Um-”

Dear God, this man was intimidating.

“Spit it out already, kid. I haven’t got all day,” the older man growled as I stood there stammering. Thankfully, someone had come to my rescue.

“You harassing the new help, Eorlund?” Farkas asked from the top of the steps. I closed my eyes and let out a mental sigh of relief. The approaching werewolf was wearing his steel armor and a smirk in his icy blue eyes. “Thought you had better things to do.”

The aging blacksmith rolled his eyes and threw a piece of charcoal at the younger man, which was easily dodged. “She your idea, Farkas? You always insisted on the pretty ones joining up.”

A scarlet blush marred my face, which made the wolf’s grin even wider. “Nah, this one’s on Kodlak. But I’m not complaining. She cooks, cleans, and she’s gonna be our bard.”

“Oh really? Here to serenade these beasts, eh?” Eorlund raised an eyebrow in my direction. I nodded.

“That’s actually what I came here to see ye about,” I told him. “Do y’know anyone who could carve a custom instrument? It’s sort of like a lute, but less strings and a much bigger body.”

The gray-haired man thought for a moment, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Aye, Faendal in Riverwood may be able to help. Draw up the diagrams and I’m sure he could carve it. It’ll most likely cost you a fair bit, though.”

“Faendal, really? I never would have guessed. Alright, I’ll pen him a letter this evening after dinner. Oh! Speaking of which, can ye do me a favor? I’ll be grillin’ steaks for dinner tonight, and I need a proper rack to grill on. Think ye can whip one up for me? I’ll pay ye in food.”

Eorlund agreed, and I quickly sketched out the design with the paper and charcoal he offered me. I bid him goodbye and turned to leave, enjoying the swish of my skirts as they moved. My pigskin-booted feet carried me swiftly down the stairs away from the forge. The soft taps of the leather soles were echoed by the clanging of steel boots shuffling after me as Farkas jogged to catch up.

“You move fast,” the dark-haired man commented without emotion.

“I’m not weighed down by bulky armor, ye ninny,” I retorted. Farkas just swatted my braid in response. “Where are ye off to now, pup?”

“Thought I’d be nice and protect you from whatever wolves are out in the tundra while you shop. If you’d prefer I didn’t, I can stay.”

I thought for a moment about how I might fare against any wild animals, and decided it would be better for him to join me. “No, ye be welcome to join me. I could use the company, anyways. We’ll be off to Frostfield then. Come on, I want to start dinner before the afternoon gets any later!”

“Rosie, wait!” Farkas called behind me, but I was already dashing ahead.

†———————†

The walk back from Frostfield was uneventful. I had paid for two cows to be butchered and delivered to Anoriath, where I would pick them up. Farkas only had to kill a few wolves, which took the broad-shouldered man a matter of mere seconds. He chuckled when I pointed out the irony of a wolf protecting the prey from other wolves instead of sharing it. As we approached Whitewatch Tower, he finally voiced his thoughts to me.

“You’re taking this awfully well, being in a new world,” he mused. I turned my head to examine him closer. He faced straight ahead, seemingly relaxed and uncaring of his surroundings. Even still, I knew his silvery-gray eyes were constantly scanning the road ahead.

“Eh? Well, I suppose so. I mean, I’ve spent so much time on these games that I practically could tell ye every bit of legend, lore, and history of Tamriel. I’ve seen more than ye could imagine, Farkas. I’m lucky it was only a game then, because I’d surely not have survived some of the things I went through,” I laughed, reminiscing the past Elder Scrolls games. Farkas’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’re you talking about?” he asked.

“How would ye feel if I told ye that ye were walking with the Champion of Cyrodiil, the Nerevarine, the Apprentice, Cyrus the Redguard, the Agent, and the Eternal Champion?” I responded nonchalantly, keeping my eyes on his face to watch his reaction. The confusion never left.

“That’s not possible. That all happened so long ago. Vilkas told me.”

“And he’s right. But in my world, there’s a series of games that this one belongs to. I played them all. I’ve been to High Rock, Hammerfell, Cyrodiil, Skyrim, Elseweyr, Valenwood, Solstheim, Vvardenfell, Mournhold, Orsinium, Black Marsh, the Summerset Isles, and a handful of the Oblivion realms. I survived Coldharbour and joined the Daggerfall Covenant in the Second Era. I cried as Martin Septim became the aspect of Akatosh before my eyes to save the world from Dagon,” I sighed. I absolutely abhorred that part of ES:IV. “I’ve taken every path there is to take, joined each faction and betrayed them too. I’ve been both a werewolf and a vampire lord. I joined the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. In the Third Era, I was both a Silencer for the Black Hand and its Listener. I joined the Thieves Guild, too. Did ye know the Count of Anvil was the Gray Fox, pup? Bastard gave me the Gray Cowl, now nobody remembers my face. I was the Archmage of the Mage’s Guild after Traven, dammit! I’ve got to admit, the Fourth Era hasn’t been nearly as fun as the third. Met some Snow Elves, sure, but I killed one. And this civil war gives me a headache. Fuck the Mede dynasty.”

Farkas had been silent during my rant, watching me warily as I threw my arms about in exasperation. As I caught his eye, I felt myself flush. Covering a small cough with my hand, I tried my best to recover my dignity.

“Can I help ye, Farkas?” I asked him stiffly, smoothing my skirts.

“You really did all that?” the larger twin wondered with a mystified look plastered to his face. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Well, yes. But saving the world was much easier when I wasn’t directly the one in danger. Instead of me, it was a series of characters I created. Breton, usually. I created backstories for each one, too. It was sort of a hero-lineage, y’see? Except for when I played as Cyrus the Redguard. That was part of the game, I couldn’t make my own character.”

“If they’re famous heroes, their names have to be recorded somewhere,” Farkas reasoned. I shook my head.

“Nay, in all yer legends, they’re referred to as male. Which is stupid, but whatever. In this world, the women I’ve created are nothing but a forgotten name, if they ever existed at all.”

Finally, we approached the gates of Whiterun. The guards eyed me suspiciously through their silly helmets as I passed, so I gave them a wave and a cheery smile. Farkas laughed. Passing through the Wind District on the way back to Jorrvaskr, I stopped to admire the Gildergreen as Farkas went on ahead. It hadn’t yet died, thankfully, and so its pink blossoms swirled through the air and decorated the ground beneath my feet. Looking at the lattice that surrounded the courtyard, an idea sprung to my mind. I reached up, shook the wooden formation, and after I was satisfied with its stability, began to climb. In mere seconds, I had scrambled my way up to the flat part of the lattice and [ taken a seat ](https://c1.staticflickr.com/8/7441/13898682227_b3e29d0980_b.jpg) , crossing my legs and situating my dress about me. I watched from above as Farkas turned, sensing that I wasn’t following. His eyes met mine and his jaw dropped slightly as I laughed and waved at him. He snapped back into focus and started towards me, ushering me to _get the fuck down from there_. Still laughing, I waited until he was directly below me to speak.

“What’s all the fuss, pup? I just wanted to see the sunset and get closer to Kyne,” I said, throwing him my most charming smile and adding a wink for good measure. He rolled his eyes.

“Get down before someone calls the guard, Rose. They’ll say you’re desecrating the tree, since it’s holy and all,” he sighed. I laughed again.

“Fine, fine, I’ll come down,” and with a _whush_ , I had jumped from the lattice to his feet. The world staggered around me slightly, and I reached out to steady myself on his solid form. “See? No harm done.”

“No harm but my failing heart, fool girl. You jumped!” Farkas groaned, dragging a hand down his face before tugging me by my braid back to Jorrvaskr. “Come on, you still have dinner to cook, right? You can’t possibly scare me to death in a kitchen.”

“Oh, I dunno about that, pup. Kitchen is where the knives are,” I mumbled, shuffling alongside the man who still held my hair captive. “Would ye leggo my hair? Ye’ll pull it out!”

Farkas gave me a suggestive look, and I swatted at his hands until he freed my poor fire-red locks. “Oh, har-har. Ye should be so lucky.”

The wolf smirked and opened the door for me. “How d’you have so much hair, anyways? Seems hard to handle.”

“I’m Irish, Farkas. Hair like fire, emerald eyes, and Guinness for blood, and all that. Fiddle dee tee, top o’ the mornin’ to ye and such. Basically I talk funny, get sunburnt easily, and drink a lot. It’s kind of ridiculous, the stereotypes. I mean, not all of us hoard potatoes and search for pots of gold.”

I could tell that Farkas had absolutely no idea what I was talking about, but I was grateful that he simply nodded and followed me down to the kitchen.

“Oh, ye don’t have to help make dinner, pup. I’m sure ye got things to do, eh?” I asked, picking up a cauldron and setting it on the fire. I grabbed two buckets to fill with water from the underground stream that fed the bathing area and made to move around where Farkas stood in the doorway. “It’s alright, I can handle things from here.”

As I waited for the buckets to fill, I started humming an old song that my father used to sing with me. After about a minute, I had enough water and lugged the buckets back to the kitchen where I dumped them in the cauldron. Farkas was still standing just inside the doorway, but he had changed out of his armor and into a linen shirt paired with thick trousers.

“Farkas, dear. If yer gonna stay, then get to work!” I snapped. Clearly not used to being ordered around, it took him a moment to process what I wanted him to do. “Help me peel these potatoes, yeah?”

I handed him about half the sack of potatoes I was working on peeling and a knife. He took them, his enormous hands momentarily dwarfing my smaller ones. A few of his callouses snagged on the fabric of my sleeves, and I marveled at the roughness of them. I watched his fingers expertly handle the knife as he separated the skin from the vegetable’s flesh. _No, Rosalin_ , I thought to myself. _Just because he’s here and he’s real doesn’t mean you get to be weird about it_.

“You were singing,” he commented after a few moments of silence.

“Hm? Oh, that. Well, I am going to be yer bard. Why not warm up now? Besides, I always sing when I cook,” I shrugged, wincing as I caught the pad of my thumb on the knife.

“Will you sing now?” he asked, watching as I cut my thumb again. “Cut away from yourself, not towards.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he did the same back to me. “What would ye like to hear?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. Whatever you were just singing is fine,” he responded. I snorted out a very un-ladylike laugh.

“It’s a drinking song from my world that my father used to sing. He was a bit of a cowboy-”

“Your father was a cow?” Farkas asked, a startled expression on his face.

My face was equally as shocked, until I burst into laughter. “What? No! A cowboy is someone who rides horses into the sunset, saves the lass from the bad man, and doesn’t tolerate trouble in his town.”

“Huh,” Farkas murmured. “I do that.”

My laughter returned, but I tried to reign it in for his sake. “Yes you do, pup.”

Still chuckling, I took the two dozen now-peeled potatoes and began to cut them into chunks. Farkas took the hint and started doing the same.

“So, you were gonna sing?” he urged, nudging me with his elbow. I rolled my eyes and got myself into a rhythm with my knife before I started. A few moments later, the song came flowing out of me.

“[ Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined your black tie affair… ](https://youtu.be/mvCgSqPZ4EM)”

†———————†

Dinner was a simple affair of steak, mashed potatoes, grilled leeks, and cinnamon apples. Apparently, I should have made more of the apples, seeing as the Companions horked them down like they hadn’t seen food in weeks. Mashed potatoes were new to them, too. Adding butter and salt to them made them even more revolutionary. My cooking had made an impression on everyone, even Njada, to her annoyance. After everything had settled down and everyone had a full belly, Kodlak stood with a mug in his hand. I knew where this was going.

“Attention, my shield-siblings. I would like to introduce a new member of the family,” the old white wolf started, spurring mutters around the table. “This is the woman who made tonight’s meal. Companions, meet Rosalin Faragher, Tilma’s new apprentice and our new bard.”

At his gesture, I rose from my place in between Farkas and Aela, giving the crowd a small wave. “Um, hello. Ye can just call me Rose.”

A round of hello’s went up, combined with compliments about the food. Kodlak ushered me to a clear space near Vignar and Brill’s room where a barstool had been placed in front of the stairs. I laughed off my nerves as my [ skirts ](https://shoplook.io/outfit-preview/460734) swished, settling gently around me as I sat on the rough wooden surface. My first performance. Wow.

“So, I’ll tell ye now that my repertoire is limited while my instrument is still being made. That in mind, what’re we in the mood for?” I asked the assembled group of warriors.

“A new member is something to celebrate, aye? Sing us something to drink to!” Torvar called. I thought it over and grinned.

“I can do that, but ye have to be able to keep up with me!” I challenged with a wink. I asked Tilma to send me a pitcher of water along with a few bottles of beer. “So, let’s start off with a bit of a game. It’ll test yer memory and yer coordination. Now, everyone who’s participatin’, I want ye to get a full pint of whatever ye be having tonight. The point of this song is to consume an entire drink, but you don’t want to run out too soon, so get yer refills now.”

I took the pitcher from Tilma as we set up a small table next to me. When I turned back to my audience, the last person had just sat down with their now-filled drink in hand. “Alrighty, then. Ye might not be familiar with some of the words in the song, so I’ll explain. Barrel, half-barrel, gill-pot, quarter-gill, pint-pat, nippikin, and the brown bowl are all ways to measure alcohol. The landlord in the song is the barkeeper, the landlady is his wife, and their daughter is their daughter. Don’t know why that needs explainin’, but oh well. The drayer mentioned is the man who carts the barrels from the brewhouse to the bar, the bookee is the bookkeeper who kept track of what goes where, and the brewer is the guy who makes the beer! That’s all ye need to know, except the audience participation part.

“So, when I sing ‘here’s good luck to the pint-pot, good luck to [the barley mow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Z4hC71xABY&list=PLcYE6WoNib7QvNkbhNQi9-0O-RHrd0zfO&index=2&t=0s)!’ that’s when ye all should ‘good luck!’ and take a swig from yer pint. After the next ‘here’s good luck’, though, ye don’t take a drink. Lasts longer that way. Are we ready to try, d’ye think?”

A cheer went up from my already-inebriated crowd. I suddenly wondered if this was a good idea, but reckoned it was too late now to stop.

“Here’s good luck to the pint-pot, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!” was shouted as we all took a swallow from our various mugs and bottles.

“Jolly good luck to the pint-pot, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

One verse down. Everything was fine so far.

“Here’s good luck to the quart-pot, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the quart-pot, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

Second verse, people were starting to get rosy-cheeked. Torvar and Farkas had taken to clanking their mugs together at each ‘good luck’ where they weren’t drinking, and it was spreading to the rest of the crowd.

“Here’s good luck to the half-gallon, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!” was cried again, slightly more slurred.

“Jolly good luck to the half-gallon, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the half-gallon, quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

Okay, third verse finished and no one had died. Even Vilkas was cutting lose and actually smiling.

“Here’s good luck to the gallon, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the gallon, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

I think the Companions seriously underestimated how difficult this could be.

“Here’s good luck to the half-barrel, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the half-barrel, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

At least Aela was having the time of her life.

“Here’s good luck to the barrel, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the barrel, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

Torvar was stumbling now, and Njada pushed him back into his seat.

“Here’s good luck to the landlord, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the landlord, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

 _Please don’t let anyone have alcohol poisoning after this,_ I silently prayed.

“Here’s good luck to the landlady, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the landlady, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

Most everyone was still going strong, except for Torvar who started early that evening. It seemed that bets were being taken on when he’d pass out.

“Here’s good luck to their daughter, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to their daughter, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the daughter, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

Somehow, Torvar was still up and singing.

“Here’s good luck to the drayer, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the drayer, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the drayer, the daughter, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

I wondered what would be done if someone dropped right now and hit their head on a table.

“Here’s good luck to the slavey, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the slavey, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the slavey, the drayer, the daughter, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

I was getting worried at this point, but the song was so close to being over.

“Here’s good luck to the bookee, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the bookee, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the bookee, the slavey, the drayer, the daughter, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!”

I stifled a burp before continuing.

“Here’s good luck to the brewer, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!”

“Jolly good luck to the brewer, good luck to the barley mow. Oh, the brewer, the bookee, the slavey, the drayer, the daughter, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

“Mow, mow, mow!” the Companions shouted.

Last verse, here we go!

“Here’s good luck to the com-pan-y,” I drawled. “Good luck to the barley mow!”

“Good luck!” was shouted, mixed with a few giggles.

“Jolly good luck to the company, good luck to the barley mow. Ohhh, the… company, the brewer, the bookee, the slavey, the drayer, the daughter, the landlady, landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, the quart-pot, pint-pot, half a pint, gill-pot, half a gill, quarter-gill, nippikin, and the brown bowl. Here’s good luck, good luck to the barley mow!”

I finished the song with a bow, then leaned back to drain the dregs of my beer. There was a round of applause, and someone in the back let out a loud burp. I knew I’d have to go easy on them for the next song.

“So, how do we feel about [the Rattlin’ Bog](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Z4hC71xABY&list=PLcYE6WoNib7QvNkbhNQi9-0O-RHrd0zfO&index=2&t=0s)?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've actually done the Barley Mow with a pint of vodka-lemonade. It was a very fun time.


	3. House of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a grumpier version of Nathan Drake and my best friend in Skyrim!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for translations.

Two weeks had already passed in a whirlwind of cooking meals, cleaning up after the messy warriors, and acquiring furniture for my new room. Vilkas and Athis had worked together to clear out a storage room, while Tilma and I had gone through the various baskets, crates, and sacks of things to decide what deserved to stay and what could go. In the end, the small room felt empty even with the furniture we had managed to gather. In one corner was a single bed with white linen sheets and a pale yellow quilt that was a gift from Eorlund’s wife, Fralia Gray-Mane. I had two moderately worn wicker chairs, one at a desk near the door and one off by the tall wardrobe that Kodlak had provided. On the desk was a small box of sewing supplies that Tilma gave me since she had extras and a steel dagger from Eorlund. I didn’t have time to admire my surroundings, though. I was getting ready to depart for Riverwood. A letter from Faendal had arrived the previous afternoon, telling me that my guitar was ready. The Bosmer and I had been communicating back and forth via courier quite often to discuss the specifics of my request. I had Belethor order strings from the Bard’s College the same day I got confirmation that Faendal could make me a guitar, and I had picked them up that morning. I was buzzing with excitement to be able to play one of my instruments again. 

With strings and coinpurse in my satchel and my dagger tucked securely into my boot, I was ready to go. I closed the door behind me, everything silent but for the click of the lock and the shuffle of my feet. The soft thuds of my footfalls followed my journey from the living area, up the stairs and to the main hall where Aela and Skjor appeared to be having some sort of hushed argument. Aela noticed me walking to the front door and waved me over.

“Where are you headed?” My fellow redhead asked, not acknowledging her angry flush and meeting my green eyes with her silver ones. Skjor seemed a tad bit annoyed at the interruption, but acknowledged my presence nonetheless.

“Riverwood. Faendal finished my instrument. I’ll be back before sunset at the latest, don’t ye worry,” I smiled slightly. The huntress nodded thoughtfully.

“Good, I’ve been looking forward to it. Is Farkas going with you?”

“Nay, it’s just Riverwood. It’s a short walk, and he’s got Torvar to train. Besides, Vilkas has been showing me how to use my dagger,” I reassured her. “I’ll be okay, I promise. Ye worry like a mother hen sometimes.”

Aela just laughed and shook her head, motioning me towards the door. “Off with you, then. Don’t get into any trouble, kid.”

“Psht. Trouble? Trouble is all ye, Aela!” I grinned at her and bid them both goodbye before turning to head towards the heavy wooden doors.

Riverwood wasn’t more than an hour’s walk from Whiterun, and I made it there easily. On the way there I took the time to think about the time that had passed since I’d come to find myself in this world. The last thing I remembered was my laptop sparking when I touched it, then I woke up on Farkas’s floor. Everything had gone miraculously smoothly, thankfully. The Companions had taken to me quite quickly, with Njada being the exception. I was fairly sure she hated everyone. I was closest with Farkas, which of course sparked rumors that were stomped down by the Circle. I spent a lot of time with Vilkas as well, reading the books in his room and sharing stories and poems from my world. I did my best to preserve my phone battery, mostly keeping it off and hidden away in the desk in my room. My nightly performances consisted of storytelling and songs that didn’t need any musical accompaniment. As Farkas said, I was adapting surprisingly well.

I didn’t have time to wonder if I should be worried about how quickly I gave up my old life for this one. Before I knew it, I was crossing the bridge into the little sawmill town. My feet had taken me there even without my full awareness. As I approached the Sleeping Giant Inn, I stopped in my tracks.

“Oi, oi, look at this fine lass!” A drunkard leaning on the stone wall across from the inn chortled to his friend. Both men had turned to face me with dull-eyed leers on their faces. The one with the bear-head hood kept talking, despite my obvious lack of attention. “My, but she’s looking a bit parched. Why, I may offer to buy her a pint of brew.”

“Not if I get to her before you do!” Slurred the other fur-clad man.

Oh no. I knew those two, but they didn’t belong in the vanilla game. No, Thomas and Darian were from the Skyrim Romance Mod. Did that mean there were other mods active? If this were my personal game, then there should be more than a handful right here in Riverwood. I glanced over my shoulder to look at the porch of the inn. On a bench sat Embry, the town drunk. The only two children in town were conversing by the right side steps, with the shaggy dog Frodnar snoozing in the sun nearby. In the shade of the porch awning, a Redguard with a mohawk of dreadlocks was chastising a doofy-looking Nord while a tall figure in black leathers leaned against the doorframe. Gorr, Hjoromir, and Bishop, then.  _ So, that’s Interesting NPCs in addition to Skyrim Romance _ , I thought to myself. The idea of Bishop and the bladebinder Rumarin existing together in this world was enough to totally steal my focus from the world around me. I was so busy with my lewd imagination that I didn’t notice Faendal until he was right in front of me.

“Hello! You must be Rose. I’m Faendal,” the white-haired elf greeted, shaking me out of my thoughts. He held his hand out, and I shook it firmly.

“Oh! Yes, I’m Rose Faragher. Thank’ee so much for doing this for me. Ye have no idea how much it means to me,” I said, flashing him a smile that I knew showed my dimples in hopes of distracting any attention from my flushed cheeks.

He motioned for me to follow him, and we headed towards his home. “ _ That’s _ how you pronounce that?* I thought it was said ‘Fahrag-hur’.”

“I get that a lot. The Companions have taken to calling me Rose, since Farkas can’t pronounce ‘Rosalin’ correctly. They just leave off the family name at this point. I just got used to it.”

“Rose Faragher,” Faendal mused, pronouncing my surname his way. “Sounds like Far-Goer.”

I thought about it momentarily and decided I liked it. “Ye know, it does! Remind me to use that if I decide to become an adventurer, when I actually can say I’ve gone far. Of course, ye get all the credit for thinkin’ of it,” I smirked at my new Bosmeri friend.

We quickly reached the front door of his house, which he unlocked with a thin iron key that he produced from the pocket of his vest. His stone cottage was exactly the same as in the game. It had the same L-shaped exterior and thatch roofing, and all the furniture was in the same place. The familiarity of it was comforting. The only things out of place were a large fur-wrapped and a small linen pouch parcel near his dining area. I felt my excitement increase. Faendal grabbed them and handed the covered guitar to me, gesturing for us to go back outside.

“You should see it in proper sunlight. I think it’s some of my best work. I took your advice and whittled down the bridge of a lute so there’s only space for the six strings. I had to ask Alvor for help with some of the metalwork, though. He wants to see it when you’ve got it all together,” the taller man explained as he locked the house behind him. I sat on the bench outside his house and unwrapped the guitar with shaky hands. A huge smile broke over my face as the furs fell away.

“Faendal, this is amazing!” I giggled, marveling at the handmade instrument. He had clearly been assiduous in following my directions. I opened my satchel to get the strings I brought, tossing him his payment in the meantime. “Spruce and maple?”

“Just like you asked. Carving the little inner bits was the most difficult part, honestly. So, what do you think?”

“It’s absolutely beautiful. Since I trust ye did everything in the diagrams I sent, I’m sure it’ll sound lovely too,” I replied, already removing the bridge pins so I could string the guitar. I held a pin up to Faendal and asked, “What did ye use for these?”

“Rabbit knuckles were the only thing I could find small enough for minimal carving and tough enough to not splinter. I still have some leftover stew from the bodies, too,” he grinned. I wasn’t sure how I felt about bunny bones being part of my new guitar, but I had to acknowledge his genius in thinking outside the box.

It was only a few minutes before I had it fully strung and ready for tuning. Faendal and I decided we should head over to Alvor’s forge to show him the finished product. I could tune while we discussed business. The bearded blacksmith was hammering a steel plate as we climbed the stairs, and he looked up at our approach.

“Ah, Faendal! And you must be Rose. My name is Alvor,” he said, wiping a sooty hand on his apron before holding it out for me to shake, which I did. I sat once again and started to mess with the pegs.

“Nice to meet ye, Alvor,” I replied, ignoring the fact that I already knew him. “Thank’ee for being such a help.”

“Ah, no trouble. I’m just interested to see how it turns out. What did you say it was called, again?”

“A guitar. It’s sort of like a lute, but with a different sound and playing style.”

“If it can drown out Sven’s singing, I’m all for it!” Alvor chuckled. I snorted, giving the strings a quick strum before looking up at the two men.

“Alright, she’s all tuned up. Would ye like to hear a tune, my friends?”

“If you start playing Ragnar the Red, I’m throwing that thing into Alvor’s forge,” Faendal warned. “Oh! I almost forgot.”

The elf handed me the linen pouch he had been carrying since we left his house. “You ordered this, too. Alvor made it.”

In the bag was a simple yet sturdy leather guitar strap. I thanked him and quickly affixed it to the pale wooden instrument. My fingers mindlessly picked and strummed, warming up while trying to decide on a melody. It felt good to have an instrument in my hands again.

“Chrissake, I don’t even know what to play!” I whined.

“Well, songs are meant to tell stories, right? Tell us a story. Battle, love, adventure, your choice,” Faendal urged.

“A story, eh? Hm… I’ve got the perfect one! Ye know the legends of dragons, aye? Then ye should like this.

[ Oh, misty eye of the mountain below ](https://youtu.be/hxJpfh1bJ8I) , keep careful watch of my brothers’ souls. And if the sky should be filled with fire and smoke, keep watching over Durin’s sons…”

And with that, my fingers flew across the strings practically of their own accord.

†———————†

I stayed in Riverwood longer than I expected to. It was nearly afternoon when I finally got up from Alvor’s front porch and started back towards Whiterun. A crowd had formed, with people wanting to see this new instrument and strange music. I complied, playing for them for a few hours. At some point, unbeknownst to me, Alvor had nudged an empty bucket by my feet for people to toss septims into. All in all, I had made around fifty gold from it. With my new guitar securely in its fur wrappings and safely strapped to my back, I trotted down the road. I hadn’t even made it ten steps when my stomach let out an enormous growl. I glanced at the Sleeping Giant Inn. I had money now, so I supposed that a late lunch wouldn’t do me any harm. Thomas and Darian tried more smartass pickup lines on me when I passed, and I did my best to ignore Bishop’s penetrating stare as I pushed open the tavern door.

“Welcome to the Sleeping Giant,” Orgnar greeted me as I approached the bar. “What’ll it be?”

“Hello, sir. What’ve ye got that’s hot?” I asked the inn’s cook while warily side-eying Delphine. Damn smarmy bitch, wanting me to kill Parthurnaax.

“I can get you some roasted rabbit and grill up some leeks,” the gruff man offered.

“Perfect. I’ll take that, and two beers.”

“Alright. That’ll be twelve septims.”

I handed Orgnar the money and he passed me the bottles in return. I thanked him and quickly found a table out of the way. While I waited, I unwrapped my guitar again and popped the cork on one of my beers. Not really knowing what else to do with it, I draped the fur carrying bag across the other chair. Sven was currently out harassing Camilla Valerius, so I didn’t have to compete for the floor. I had just formed a chord with my left hand and was about to start strumming when someone behind me cleared their throat.

“So, are you so used to those kinds of comments that you turn up your nose at all of them like some damned noble?” Said the looming presence at my back. I froze, internally panicking, and figured that if I didn’t respond, he might just go away.

It turns out that Sai** wasn’t around to do me any favors. A heartbeat passed before the ranger spoke again, clearly agitated by my silence. “Hey. I’m talking to you, ladyship.”

I sighed and turned to face him. “Ye could at least sit down, ye know. I don’t bite, but ye probably do.”

[ Bishop ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/tes-mods/images/5/56/B.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20170724155736) watched me pack up my guitar, then sat in the chair opposite me when I had made space for him. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I did the same to him. “So? Are you gonna answer my question?

“Is it a bad thing to ignore drunken idiots in the street who’re trying to shag ye and run? I’m no noble, but I do have standards,” I voiced my mind, not caring that I was off the mod dialogue. Bishop hmph’d at me and leaned back in his seat.

“Well, you’re right about them being idiots. They’ve been harassing every pair of legs that’s crossed their path for days. Yesterday they got so drunk they even wolf-whistled the blacksmith. You’re the first they’ve been right to admire, though,” he mused. So, apparently mod NPCs weren’t limited to just their scripted dialogue. “Anyways, just give ‘em a wide berth.”

“Days, eh? And what’re ye, Orgnar’s new porch decoration? Ye stand outside lookin’ pretty to attract business?” I joked. The grumpy man scowled at me, which I frankly found hilarious since his eyebrows were far bushier in real life than in-game.

“I was tracking my wolf, Karnwyr, around here. We got separated while hunting a week ago. I’ve been hearing rumors of bandits holding pitfights somewhere this side of Skyrim. He’s all I’ve got, and that’s the only lead, so I’m off to shut them down before something happens to him.”

Orgnar made a brief interruption to drop off my plate of food. I thanked him and turned back to Bishop. “I think I know the area yer talkin’ about. I could help ye get him back, if ye like. Got a few things to do first but we’ll be off in a jiffy.”

“I guess it they’re running a ring, it’s gonna be more than a few bandits. If you want to come, I wouldn’t complain about my odds. And I could certainly do worse for company,” the amber-eyed man agreed, looking me up and down appreciatively. “Before we go, I want to make something clear. I don’t-”

“Ye don’t trust anyone but yerself and yer mac tíre, yes, yes, I can tell. Ye gruff types are so predictable sometimes,” I cut him off with a roll of my eyes. I didn’t feel like giving him the real reason I already knew about his trust issues. “My name’s Rose, by the way.”

“Bishop,” he said, meeting my cheerful smile with a suspicious frown.

“Well, Bishop. Ye can have my last beer if ye like. I needa talk to Orgnar about some Companions business, then we can be off,” I told him, already headed towards the bar to speak with the barkeep. I didn’t hear Bishop’s guffaw in response to the word “Companions”.

“Ah, hello again,” Orgnar rumbled, glancing up from the mug he was cleaning.

“Hi, Orgnar. Have ye got any contracts in for the Companions? I’m headed back to Jorrvaskr and thought I’d save ye the trip.”

“Wha- oh, that’s right. You’re Tilma’s new help. Yeah, we’ve got a couple. Here.”

“Thank’ee kindly, Orgnar. We’ll have people on these as soon as possible,” I left him with a smile and sauntered back to Bishop. The tall, lean ranger was standing by the table, half-empty beer in his hand. He watched me as I shuffled my guitar onto my back, the strap of its fur bag biting into my shoulder.

“ _ You’re  _ a Companion?” He questioned, obviously doubting my abilities. Then again, I looked at my  [ state of dress ](https://shoplook.io/outfit-preview/475831) , and shrugged.

“Eh, I’m their bard and maid. They’ve been teaching me some things, though. I’m not terrible with a dagger.”

Bishop looked like he wanted to take back his agreement about me joining him. “Whatever. As long as you don’t get in my way.”

Out in the sunlight of the late afternoon, I leafed through the contracts that Orgnar had given me. Bishop and I had just made it over the bridge, where he glared at a tree filled with loudly cawing birds, when I skidded to a halt. The spiky-haired ranger kept walking for a few moments before he turned back. He peered over my shoulder at the paper I was clutching.

“What’s the problem?”

“This one’s important. Bishop, I need to take care of this one. Where’s Brittleshin? I forgot my map, fuck!” I cursed angrily as I bounced on the balls of my feet.

“Hey, slow down. Won’t the Companions be mad if you take a contract?”

“This one doesn’t pay. I think Orgnar slipped it in just to spread the word.”

“Hm,” Bishop looked down at the note again, before pulling a map from his pocket. “How long is this gonna take? Brittleshin’s not far.”

“Not long at all. Skeletons and a single necromancer.”

“Alright. Let’s go. But after that, no more detours!” Bishop declared.

“Thank’ee Bishop!” I cried, wrapping my arms around his waist briefly and bonking his cheek with the head of my guitar before taking off at a full sprint towards the northern entrance to the pass.

“Damnit, ladyship, wait up!” He called after me, holding a hand to his irritated cheekbone.

The trip to Brittleshin had taken about an hour at a jog. Even though I was worried, I couldn’t help but marvel at my newfound muscle. Back home, I was essentially skinny-fat. I didn’t much exercise, aside from walks in the surrounding woods. I was skinny because of how I ate and my metabolism, otherwise I reckoned I’d have been much larger. But here, my body was changing. I was nowhere near ripped, of course, but thanks to constantly being on my feet and traveling moderate distances to get things for the Companions’ dinners almost every day, I had built up a tolerance for it. What I wouldn’t give for a good pair of running shoes, though.

“Sheesh, woman. What’s in there that has you worked up like this?” Bishop wheezed, hands on his knees. You’d think he’d be more used to this, living in the wilderness and all.

“A woman named Zora Fair-Child. She’s… someone I used to know,” I answered. I bent down and grabbed the dagger from my boot, ignoring the way Bishop stared at my ass as I did so. “Ready?”

“Ready when you are, princess,” he smirked.

We headed into the tunnel, silent as possible. Bishop was creeping forwards toward the ice spike-launching soul gem, and I grabbed his jacket. He turned back to growl something at me when I shushed him and pointed at the trap. His quiet ‘hrmph’ of annoyance had me noiselessly snickering. The ranger knocked an arrow and fired at the gem, sending it flying. I winced as two skeletons came clambering over to the spot where his arrow had thudded into the ground. Bishop simply sent another arrow soaring right into a skeleton’s spine, causing it to collapse. The last skeleton hurried over towards us, sword raised. I got a decent slash in with my dagger before a third arrow from Bishop planted itself in the bone monster’s skull, ending it. We could safely resume our course now. The two of us crept up the wooden spiraling platform, stopping just before the top. A haunting song echoed around us.

“We lay my love and I beneath the weeping willow, a broken heart have I. Oh willow, I die, oh, willow, I die,” sang the soft, female voice. Zora.

“Yes, very good, my pet. It’s a shame about your face…” the necromancer crooned. The dunmer mage was standing at the table, his back to the cages, and to us.

Bishop knocked another arrow, slowly moving forward to get a better angle. His boot scuffed the ground just loud enough for the echo to reach the elf’s sensitive ears.

“Huh? What was tha-“

The necromancer didn’t have time to finish his sentence before an arrow found itself between his burgundy eyes. Once the coast was clear, I rushed forward to Zora’s cage.

“Oh. Hello,” the  [ Breton warrior girl ](https://i.imgur.com/dzYvr4l.jpg) said. I was proud of myself for not reacting to her scars. In the game, they just use the warpaint to mimic a hand-shaped burn, but seeing that kind of thing in reality was something else.

“Yer Zora Fair-Child, right?” I asked, even though I didn’t need an answer. She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes? Although it was never meant to be ironic. I was once very much a child, and very much fair. So fair, in fact, that the gods saw fit to punish me with this marred and unenviable face,” she sighed. Bishop coughed awkwardly in the background.

“It’s always easier to blame the gods for such things, eh? I’m Rose, I’m with the Companions. Orgnar sent me to find ye. This is my friend, Bishop,” I said, motioning to the man in black. “Will ye come out of the cage?”

“Maybe. I’d grown quite fond of it. The iron bars, the pattern of squares… well, I guess that’s it. But I do like squares,” she laughed. I waved Bishop over to pick the lock on her cage.

“I don’t see the point in this, ladyship. She obviously wants to be captured,” Bishop grumbled as the cage door swung open. I tutted at him and offered Zora a hand to help her out.

“My, aren’t we the testy one? Not quite the gallant, unflappable hero I’d imagined,” she snarked at him. I may have been keeping it cool and calm on the outside, but I was absolutely shrieking on the inside.

“Expecting someone more… dashing?” Bishop smirked. “Because I don’t think that person exists.”

Zora and I groaned in unison. “There ye go, ye ruined it! Ye had to go and ruin it, didn’t ye? So pretty and charming, and ye even have a pup in case that fails, but yer head’s full of air. Come on, Zora, let’s let him bask in the glow of his own beauty.”

I linked arms with the blonde woman and pulled her away, which just made Bishop laugh. Grumbling about his annoying bravado, I swept the few valuables in the room into my satchel before throwing a skeleton’s leg bone at him. I was starting to become convinced that Sai hated me, because the bone missed him entirely and clattered yards away to his right. His chuckles followed us as we left out of the northern entrance again.

†———————†

The sun was past set by the time we reached Whiterun and opened the doors to Jorrvaskr. I had just turned around to address my new friends when I was blindsided by two large, muscular forces.  _ Shit _ , I thought to myself. I had forgotten that I told Aela I’d be back before sundown. Apparently, she and Farkas had been worried about my well-being, seeing as they fussed over me like a brood of hens. I threw Zora and Bishop a look that screamed ‘dear God please help me’ from over the warriors’ shoulders.

“Rose! Where were you? I was worried sick!” Aela admonished. I had to giggle at her very out-of-character behavior. Judging by her darkening look, laughing was the wrong thing to do.

“Yeah, really not okay, Rosie. We thought you got hurt. I was about to go looking. You barely know how to use that dagger,” Farkas trailed off, and his sad voice immediately made me feel bad.

“Oh ye guys, I’m sorry,” I murmured, pulling them both into a hug. “I got sidetracked. People in Riverwood wanted to hear the guitar, and that took hours, then I got hungry and then I met Bishop and,” I paused for breath. Aela and Farkas glanced at each other, then back at me. “And then we went to Brittleshin to rescue Zora, and by the time it was all over, it was sunset. I have contracts for ye, too.”

Aela took the papers that I handed to her from my satchel, still miffed that I had scared her. Farkas was calmer now, thankfully. He was busy eyeing Zora and Bishop by the door, and I sighed.

“Down, pup. They’re friendly. He’s grumpy and cocky, but still friendly. I’m going to help him get his mac tíre back from a fighting ring over in the east. She’s the one we rescued, I’m sure she would make a good Companion,” I informed the werewolf with a nudge to his arm. He frowned down at me.

“Mock what? Whatever. If you’re going out there, I’m going with you. I don’t know them, I don’t trust them, and you’ll need backup if things go wrong,” he grumbled. I smiled softly up at the big man.

“Thank’ee Farkas. Come on, I’ll introduce ye.”

We crossed the wooden floor to stand in front of my two new friends. I stood in between Farkas and the two, praying Bishop wouldn’t act like his usual self.

“Guys, this is Farkas. Farkas, this is Bishop and Zora Fair-Child. Bishop, Farkas has offered to join us on our search to get Karnwyr. Oh! That reminds me. Zora, we’re headed east to uncover a pit-fighting ring and rescue Bishop’s wolf. Would ye like to join us?” I asked the woman, ignoring Bishop’s glare.

“Making such cute, fluffy creatures fight each other? You have my steel,” Zora agreed with a determined face.

“Okay, hold on there ladyship. I get that more fighters means a better chance of winning, but  _ cute _ ?  _ Fluffy _ ? Is she insane?” Bishop argued. Farkas had sided with Bishop, his wolf apparently objected to being called cute and or fluffy. Zora and I grinned at each other.

“Well, wolves are rather fluffy, especially during winter with their thick coats. And have ye seen a wolf cub? They’re adorable!” I laughed, delighting in Bishop’s annoyed glare. “Come on, grumpy. It’s okay. No one is going to think Karnwyr is a tame little puppy and try to feed him a sweetroll. I promise.”

“I don’t,” Zora muttered under her breath so the ranger couldn’t hear. I snorted, but recovered quickly.

“Come on, ye ninnies. Let’s eat, then I’m sure the Companions want to hear my guitar. They’ve been waiting for weeks, as it is,” I commanded gently and ushered everyone towards the table. “We’ll get started on our journey in the morning.”

Over dinner, I cleared the mission with Kodlak and apologized for being late. He waved away my apology, thanked me for getting the contracts from Riverwood, and told me that I’d need some form of armor for the trip. When I sheepishly revealed to him that the guitar from Faendal cost me every septim I had, he shrugged and said that he’d pay. I almost choked on my food. I did my best to argue about it, but his stern look told me to keep my mouth shut and accept the gift. Accepting my fate, I meekly nodded and thanked him profusely. Dinner ended quickly, and I made my way to my usual set-up at the front of the room. My guitar was freed from its confines and I swiftly tuned. The chatter died down, and soon I had everyone’s attention.

“Hello again, everyone. What mood are we in tonight?”

“Ragnar the Red!” Called Brill. He was boo’ed into Oblivion.

“How about a love song?” Ria requested. A nod of agreement came from Athis.

“Yeah, we haven’t heard anything like that in ages,” the Dunmer said.

“Alright, ye want some love songs, eh? I can do that. I want ye all to think of a woman, any woman with this song. Okay? Here we go.

[ “City cold, moonlight bright, mountains old, I watch the water..” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9OuQegvnFo&list=PLcYE6WoNib7QIKNSOc5F7TTKi-ogSHyh_&index=2&t=0s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things, in case you were wondering about the guitar process here. I know I took a few liberties with it, but it really is possible to hand-make a guitar. I just hope Y’ffre isn’t too angry at Faendal for carving things up. As Daenlyn Oakhollow says, “It’s fairly blasphemous for a Bosmer to chop wood!” I did a lot of research (while I should have been paying attention to my HIS102 class…) on guitar finishes, and found one that’s actually lore-friendly! Linseed oil is a wood finish, and linseed is another word for the real life and Cyrodilic plant Flax! That, with a beeswax coating for waterproofness, would be fragile but equivalent to modern finishes.  
> *The way Faendal says Faragher the American pronunciation. Faragher comes from Ó Fearchair, which is derived from fearchar (meaning man-deer in Scots-Gaelic, or dear one in Irish). Due to the way the Irish language is pronounced, it becomes FAHR-hehr.  
> **Sai is the god of luck in Tamrielic lore, and he’s the reason the Snow Elves are almost extinct.  
> Translations:  
> Mac tíre (mok cheer-ah) - wolf


	4. A/N: Character Profile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to get a feel for Rosalin, who she is and her background so it doesn't feel like I'm pulling things out of nowhere. I've had a character sheet for her since I started even thinking about putting this on paper, and I update it now and then.

Skyrim / Real world 

Name: Rose Far-goer / Rosalin Faragher (RAW-sah-lin FAHR-hehr)

Race: Unknown, assumed Reachwoman by strangers / Irish-American

Sign: Tower / Scorpio

Birthday: 25 Frostfall 174 / 25 October 1992 (Age 26)

Class: Bard / Musician, if that’s a class

Appearance: fairly tall and slim, thick and curly red hair with muddy-green eyes. Freckles out the wazoo.

Background: Lives in Berkshire County, MA. Mother is full Irish (County Clare), father is Irish-American (Boston), met in Ireland and moved to USA after marriage. Four siblings, John, Sabrina, Patrick, and Eoghan. Father passed away in Afghanistan in 2002. Plays violin for Boston Symphony Orchestra, drives the two and a half hours on I-90 to get there. Also plays ukulele, piano, and guitar. Mother was insistent she learn her heritage, so she taught her Irish (Munster dialect). Both she and her sister have insane amounts of curly hair, so they both learned to braid to get it out of the way. Fond of theatre, older country, classic rock, and some indie music. Had a punk phase, so she still has a soft spot for that music. To try and please her mother, she learned all sorts of traditional Irish music, only to be told "That's nice dear."

(Some of these things have not been touched on, yet, but will be discussed in future chapters.

[This is Rose's inspiration](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/5b/f4/62/5bf462f483fd2eb79160f0612533eefd.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a separate document for keeping track of her interpersonal relationships and such, and I'll post that later down the line if need be. I plan on working in a lot of the 3DNPC quests and characters along with the vanilla ones. I'm not sure about which path I want to go down for the romance part of things - it's one thing to save and reload in a game, and another to actually have things like Bishop's questline happen in person! Also, let me know if you want things from other characters' points of view. I crave feedback and ideas! Also, I have just barely begun chapter four, and it's already four pages! That makes this 29 pages in total. I've never stuck with a story for this long and been so dedicated to it. I'm honestly proud of myself. Again, let me know what y'all think and if you have any ideas/feedback!


	5. Running With the Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how long this has taken me! I've had some health issues going on, and migraines have taken me out of commission for the past few weeks. Hopefully the length makes up for the lateness?

 

The next morning came far too quickly. Zora and Bishop had elected to stay at the Bannered Mare, since they weren’t technically Companions. I told them I’d meet them there in the morning for breakfast. I had been planning to wake up at eight or so, but the man pounding on my door had other plans. It couldn’t have been later than five in the morning. Damn this world for not having proper clocks. I pulled my covers over my head with a dramatic groan as Farkas pushed open the door, letting himself in.

“Come on, Rose. Time to get up,” he tried, staring amusedly at the unhappy lump that was me.

“No,” I growled, turning away from him.

“We leave soon, and Eorlund needs to fit you for your new armor,” Farkas urged, shaking my shoulder.

“Go n-ithe an cat agus is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat*,” I hissed, shrinking further into the warm comforts of my quilt. I heard Farkas sigh, but frankly, I didn’t care about anything but being toasty warm at that moment.

“I have no idea what you said, but you forced me to do this. I hope don’t sleep naked,” he replied, not giving my sleepy brain a second to process what he said before ripping the covers off of me. I was definitely awake after that.

“Gah! Farkas!”

“I told you to get up,” he smiled innocently at me, moving the blanket out of the way as I tried to snatch it from him.

“Go hlfreann leat*,” I grumbled, throwing a pillow at him and sitting up in bed.

“Still don’t know what you’re saying,” he countered cheekily. “I’ll let you get ready. You have five minutes.”

I groaned again at his retreating figure, still mentally cursing him. I threw on a plain top and clambered into the leggings I wore yesterday, nearly tripping and falling on my ass. I missed hoodies and sweatpants. Thankfully, I had taken the time to knit a few pairs of socks from skeins of wool since I had found myself in this world, so I donned a set and packed an extra pair. My satchel already had my coinpurse and dagger, and I tossed my cell phone in as a last-minute decision. I figured I would need it when I told Bishop and Zora where I was really from. As far as that was concerned, I was glad Farkas was coming along. He would vouch for me. I left my hair down and wild, then went outside to meet Farkas.

“Yer an absolute ass,” I ground out, still blinking away sleep. My grumpiness just made the big man huff out a laugh.

“And you’re not a morning person,” he noted in return. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“[ The morning is evil ](https://media.giphy.com/media/NoR9zINodIdS8/giphy.gif). Now that I’m awake enough to understand, why did ye get me up at the asscrack o’ dawn?” I sighed, really missing my bed.

“Eorlund needs to fit you for armor. He already has most of the leathers treated, and he already made your boots. He just needs the rest so he can finish putting it all together.”

“Already has the boots, eh? Is that why my shoes are missing?”

“Maybe. Come on, let’s go. We can get breakfast after.”

Luckily, Eorlund barely needed me for twenty minutes. A quick wrapping of some leather strips around various parts of me where seams would be and and a few charcoal markings on a longer strip to mark my height at the hip and shoulders, then I was done. He handed me my new boots, too, which I slipped on over my woolen socks. The blacksmith waved us away, and I grouchily grabbed Farkas’ hand and tugged him in the direction of the Bannered Mare.

I could feel Bishop’s judgmental look the moment I trudged through the tavern doors. Zora waved us over to their table with a smile. Still half asleep, I collapsed into the chair beside her, with Farkas following behind. I yawned and rested my head on Zora’s shoulder, trying and failing to stay awake. The ranger reached around Zora and pulled on my hair, and I feebly swatted him away.

“She’s not a morning person,” Farkas commented.

“I can see that,” Bishop grinned, dodging every limp swipe of my hands and continuing to rummage through my hair. “Divines, woman, how much hair do you have? What do you do with it?”

“Leave me alone or I’ll shove it down yer throat,” I growled in warning. Zora patted my head softly.

“Are you sure you’re dressed for the trip?” She asked as she eyed [ my attire ](https://shoplook.io/outfit-preview/491735). I sighed and lifted my head from her shoulder. To his utter disdain, I reached over and stole the last half of Bishop’s honey nut treat.

“Eorlund is making me some armor, said he’ll be done in a few hours. We have a little time to pack and plan routes before we go,” I mumbled around the mouthful of crunchy goodness. “So, I propose we take the north route to Ivarstead and stay the night. Cragslane Cavern is near the hot springs between Riften and Winterhold.”

There was a pregnant pause as the small group turned to me. Bishop narrowed his eyes and accusedly asked, “How do you know exactly where to go?”

Oh shit. I cursed my stupid, sleepy brain for letting it slip. I exchanged worried looks with Farkas, who nudged my foot under the table. The silent communication wasn’t lost on Bishop, or Zora.

“What’s going on here?” The Breton warrior girl asked with a concerned expression.

“Fuck it all to hell,” I sighed. “This isn’t the place. Guys, can ye follow me please? I promise ye there’s no danger, nothing to worry about.”

Reluctantly, the two of them followed Farkas and I back to Jorrvaskr, down to the living quarters and into my room. I sat cross-legged on the yellow quilt covering my bed, while Zora and Farkas took up seats on the yellow wicker chairs. Bishop remained standing, and given his past, I couldn’t blame him. I dug through my satchel and pulled out my phone.

“Bishop, Zora, the truth is…” I trailed off, breathing deeply to calm myself. This went better with the Circle. “The truth is, I’m not from Skyrim. I’m not even from Mundus. The reason I know where Karnwyr is, is because where I’m from, this is all a game. All the major historical events that ye know, I played a part in ‘em through those games. The Mythic Dawn and Martin Septim sacrificing himself to save Tamriel from Mehrunes Dagon, Lorkhan and the Tribunal at Red Mountain, Jagar Tharn’s betrayal, I was there for it all. I know almost everything about this world and its history, and about ye both, too. Zora, I know Joselyn didn’t mean to burn ye like that. I know ye were the Diamond of Riverwood and a right spoiled bitch back then, but ye been humbled and took yer anger out on wolf packs and turned yer body into a mess of scars. Yer still beautiful, and everytime ye said something daft in the game about how an amulet of Mara wouldn’t do ye any good now, I wanted to knock ye upside the head and give ye the biggest hug.

“Bishop, I know what yer running from. I know it all, like how Nilheim is where ye found Karnwyr as a cub. By the way, it’s currently occupied with bandits and they’ll try to trick us into helping their ‘wounded man’ by the roadside. Yer gonna hate that I know and I wouldn’t blame ye at all if ye left after we found yer mac tíre because ye’ll feel vulnerable. But I want ye to know that I never judged ye for anything ye told me. Not even the things with Thorn, or yer brother.”

I had been looking down at the floor the entire time I had been talking. I was too afraid to look at either of them. I knew Farkas already trusted and believed me, but these two were also incredibly important to me. The bed dipped as someone sat down next to me. Before I could look up, I felt Zora’s arms wrapping around me.

“I believe you, Rosie,” she whispered into my hair. I leaned into her for support, happy to have my best friend.

“Thank’ee, Zora,” I smiled at her softly. Boots appeared in my vision, and fingers lifted my chin. Bishop’s yellow eyes peered down into my green ones. They were guarded, but held no malice.

“I believe you, too,” he said quietly as his hand fell away. “I don’t know how I feel about it, yet, but I believe you.”

My eyes started to water against my will, and I did my best to blink the tears away. Bishop looked surprised and turned to Farkas for help. The werewolf hauled himself out of the chair and shuffled over to us. He awkwardly patted my head, which made me huff out a laugh in spite of my emotions.

“You knew about this already?” Zora directed her question to Farkas, but I answered instead.

“Yeah, the whole Circle knows, but that’s it. I spilled beer on my laptop - er, the machine I use to play the game, and while I was trying to dry it off, it started sparking. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in Farkas’ bed because he found me passed out on his floor. I’ve been here nearly two weeks now,” I sighed, fiddling with the phone in my hands. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just glad ye don’t hate me.”

“What’s that?” Zora asked, pointing at the little machine.

“It’s called a phone. I figured I’d need it to get ye to believe me,” I replied, turning it on. The screen lit up, causing everyone to jump. I bit back a grin.

“What does it do?” Bishop wondered, glaring at it suspiciously. “Is it a weapon?”

“Mm, no. Here, lemme show ye.”

I showed them the clock that said 07:28, the reminders to practice each day, some voicemails from my mother, photos of my garden and the mountains around my house, videos of my orchestra, and music that was downloaded on my phone. I had to snatch it away from Bishop when he started going through my pictures, praying he hadn’t seen the smuttier ones of his Skyrim character. To distract them, I showed them some of the songs I had on my phone. Farkas and Zora weren’t very fond of the rougher music I had, but Bishop liked it, especially Falling In Reverse. I had to power the phone down to conserve the battery, but I played them some songs on my guitar to pass the time. They each wanted me to pick a song for them that I thought they’d enjoy. After a run through of [ While We’re Young ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiE28P8LmFw) for Zora, [ Just Breathe ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5bAawsa7_s) for Farkas, and [ I Won’t Back Down ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LBYrDx_784) for Bishop, we felt like we should check with Eorlund about the status of my new armor.

Up in the fresh air of the city, Eorlund had managed to put together a masterpiece within so little time. To my surprise, he presented me with the [ Hunter Armor ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/tes-mods/images/4/4c/Hunter_Armor_-_Female.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/250?cb=20160422001605) from the Immersive Armors mod, confirming yet another mod I had downloaded. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to find my Dragonborn running around somewhere. At least I didn’t have anything sexy, or the mod that turned dragons into Thomas the Tank Engine. If this world really did have all the mods I downloaded, then I should find evidence of Immersive Weapons, Arcanum, the three DLCs, Elysium Estate, two coffee shops, different hairstyles, Divine Elegance, and Meeko should be a husky. I supposed I’d have to find out. Judging by the availability of beer, Spirits of Skyrim was active as well.

Kodlak, in all his kindness, had also ordered a carrying case for my guitar to be made by Adrianne Avenicci so that both it and the armor could be done at the same time. When we picked it up, I felt myself getting emotional for the second time that morning. The leather had been reinforced to hold its shape and coated with beeswax to make it waterproof. A set three of hinges adorned one side, and three steel latches mirrored their placement on the other. It was lined with fox fur, as well. A sturdy leather strap went across the back, with several steel O-rings across the top and bottom to affix the case to a horse’s saddle. The fact that Kodlak had thought of my guitar needing protection and had seen to it already made my heart soar. The Companions were becoming more of a family than my real one.

Finally, finally we were ready to set off. The sun had risen only an hour before when we gathered outside of the stables. Farkas informed me that we were allowed to use two of the Companions’ horses. I was thankful, as I definitely didn’t want to walk all the way to Eastmarch. There was a brief argument about who would ride with who, as Farkas didn’t trust Bishop and Zora entirely and he generally preferred not to ride at all. In the end, Bishop would ride with Zora and I would be alone with a greater amount of the gear, while Farkas would walk beside us and keep watch for trouble. The wiley ranger easily mounted a dappled gray mare and held his hand out to Zora to help her. I cautiously approached the towering red roan stallion I’d been assigned. I held my hand out for him to sniff. I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to be doing, and it was starting to become apparent.

“Hello, beastie,” was my tense greeting to the star-faced creature. Chocolate-colored nostrils flared as he decided whether I was friend or foe.

“Uh, Rosie? This is the part where you get on the horse,” Farkas rumbled from nearby. The roan flicked his ear in Farkas’ direction, not worried in the slightest about a schedule to follow. I sighed and turned to the big Companion.

“I dunno how. I’ve never ridden before,” I admitted quietly. Bishop snorted as the stallion behind me began to snuffle at my braid, tugging on it softly.

“Then how do people in your world get around without horses?” He challenged. Farkas nodded as he guided me towards the side of the massive creature, motioning for me to put my left foot in the stirrup first.

“Well, if ye - ofph!” I was suddenly sitting atop the stallion, thanks to Farkas practically throwing me up there. “If ye must know, we use machines. They go very fast, and they’re really loud, especially in the cities. I could drive to Riverwood from Whiterun in five minutes instead of walking an hour.”

We had moved down the road and were headed towards Honningbrew Meadery. I was shaky on my new perch, but tried to stay calm. I knew Farkas could sense how nervous I was, as he would occasionally put a calming hand on the horse’s shoulder to give it some light scratches.

“Your world sounds like it was built by the Dwemer,” Zora mused, leaning back in the saddle and supporting her weight on her hands behind her.

“I suppose it does,” I agreed. “Our cars run on oil like the Dwemer automatons, but we use it so much that it’s destroying the environment. That, and pollution. Ye think Riften is a shitehole? Ye should see how bad some of the places back home have gotten. The air has gotten too toxic to breathe in places, trash is filling holy sites and rivers. It’s killing wildlife. In a way, I’m glad to be here and not in that world anymore.”

“Kyne would have a fit,” Farkas commented, making me laugh.

“Oh, definitely. By the way, there’s bandits ahead. Valthiem Towers. They’ll try to stop us, and not to pay a toll,” I sighed. When we got back from getting Karnwyr, I definitely would need to start training with the Companions in between working with Tilma and the nightly performances. I felt so useless compared to my three travelmates. Bishop got off his horse and drew his bow.

“Don’t worry, Rose. Who’s got your back?” Zora asked with a grin as she dismounted behind the brunette man.

“Ye do,” I smiled back.

“What are we, chopped liver?” Bishop complained to Farkas as the trio moved down the road to the bandit encampment, leaving me with the horses and supplies. I glanced down at my mount, giving him a cautious pat on the neck.

“I suppose all we can do now is wait, yeah?”

His only response was a whinny of indifference.

†———————†

“I can’t believe you did that to that poor horse’s mane,” Bishop commented offhandedly as he pulled his dappled mare up to trot beside me. Zora reached out to touch one of the many braids I had woven into the roan’s dark hair and smiled at the frivolousness of it.

“His name is Spíosra*, and I was bored waiting for ye,” I shot back. Farkas coughed, covering a laugh. He must have decided that a subject change was needed, because he spoke up soon after.

“What’s that language you keep speaking in? The one you yelled at me in this morning.”

“Hm?” I was only sort of listening, taking in the scenery around me. We were well away from Whiterun by now. “Oh, that. My Ma taught me and my siblings Irish from a young age. She was worried that living across the ocean from her homeland would keep us blind to our family’s culture. See, my father met her back in Ireland when he was there for military service. He and some buddies went on a drunken adventure from Ennis to Killaloe and it was by Ma’s grace that they got home alive before sunrise. He was enthralled by the country, and when he met her, it was a done deal. His father is from one of the northern counties of the Republic, and my Ma was born and raised in County Clare. Father loved the idea of his Irish history and fell in love so fast with Ma. He wanted us closer to his family and better opportunities, and he moved us to Boston, which is in another country. After he passed, it was up to Ma to finish raising us. I was ten when he died.”

Our group got quiet for a moment, before Bishop spoke up.

“Still doesn’t exactly give us any translations, ladyship.”

I cracked a smile, the doom and gloom mood sloughing off of us. “I guess not. Ye want to know what I’ve been calling ye behind yer backs, hm?”

“It would be nice,” Farkas hummed.

“Well, for starters. Bishop, mac tíre means wolf. I’m not calling Karnwyr some random horseshite, don’t ye worry. Oh! And Spíosra means spice, or spice cake. I figured it matched him well enough,” I cooed endearments to the horse below me, scratching gently behind his jaw and down his neck. “As for what I said to ye, Farkas, just know that it wasn’t very nice. Yer lucky I didn’t hit ye. I tend to be… violent, when suddenly awoken against my will.”

“Ooh, what did you call him? Can you teach us any fun curses?” Zora begged.

“I may or may not have doomed him to be eaten by a cat, which would then be eaten by the Devil. And then told him to go to Hell,” I replied, scratching my head in thought. “Really though, it’s his fault for waking me up.”

“We had somewhere to be!” The werewolf argued.

“Ye didn’t have to be so rude about it! Blanket-thieving bastard. Yer lucky I was wearing clothes,” I grumbled back.

The rest of our journey to Ivarstead continued with much of the same easy banter, pausing only to dispatch hostile wildlife here and there. I was thankful that no assassins appeared like in the game, as that would have been a tough fight for even the four of us combined. Besides, I hadn’t been revealed as Dragonborn yet, so there was no real need for anyone to perform the Black Sacrament. That’s if I were the Dragonborn at all.

The sun was in the middle of setting when we arrived in Ivarstead. The smell of wind-crisped wheat mixed with the fragrant perfume of pig manure eased its way into my nose as we dismounted near the inn. The guards paid us no more than a passing glance, but the locals spent more than a moment eyeing us up. I supposed Ivarstead really didn’t see a lot of action if the four of us were the most interesting thing around. We grabbed our belongings from our horses and headed inside the big wooden inn. Inside was quiet and mostly empty, aside from Bassianus Axius. I had to mentally prepare myself for his snobbish voice.

“Welcome to the Vilemyr Inn. If there’s anything I can get for you, just let me know,” the innkeep, Wilhelm, called from his spot at the bar. His eyes shifted over us as if measuring how much trouble we’d be.

“Rooms, please. Two. We’ll see about supper after we settle in,” I requested, flashing him that smile. Wilhelm frowned.

“Sorry, miss. Only got one room, but it’s got two beds.”

“We’ll take it, and a discount for the inconvenience,” Bishop broke in, placing a coinpurse on the counter. Wilhelm pointed us to the big side room on the right and left us to ourselves.

The room was enough for the four of us, in regards to space. The kicker would be the sleeping arrangements. Farkas decided it was up to the three of us, and left to order dinner. I’d be fine sleeping with whoever, it really didn’t matter to me. Zora and Bishop started to argue over which one of them was the most annoying, and I winced. They’d spent all day on a horse together, it only stands to reason they’d be tired of each other. Finally, their shouting got too grating for me to handle.

“Guys! Would ye knock it off?” I snapped, startling them into silence. “Ye clearly need a break from each other. Zora, ye can bunk with me. Bishop can sleep with Farkas.”

“What? No!” The ranger protested. I rolled my eyes.

“It’s that or the floor, Bishop. Yer choice.”

“Why can’t I sleep with you?” He countered.

“Because then Zora would have to sleep with Farkas, and I dunno if they’re comfortable with that, ye ninny.”

“If it makes everyone shut up, I’m okay with it,” Farkas cut in as he strode into the room. “What about you, Zora?”

The blonde’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. “Y-yeah, no problem with me.”

“That’s settled then. Come on, food’s ready,” Farkas stated, apparently oblivious to Zora’s emotional distress. I winked at her, and her cheeks flared. We all trailed after Farkas to find four neat plates of venison and baked potatoes, accompanied by tall mugs of what Wilhelm called 7000 Step Ale.

With a full belly and a pleasantly buzzing head, I grabbed my guitar from our shared room and headed outside to sit on one of the benches. The night was clear and cool, and stars danced across the sky. I felt like a song would be the perfect backdrop to the view, and let my hands do what they wanted until they decided on a rhythm. Soft strumming turned into a guitar rendition of an older piano song that I used to daydream to in high school. Out of habit, I began to sing.

“[ On a night like this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yF65Mg349s), I could fall in love. I could fall in love with ye. In this dark so dense, we talked so soft the way young lovers do. The day’s last sight turns to cool night’s breeze, and this love hangs thick like these willow leaves. I’ve hid myself away from this, but yer silhouette is the Judas kiss,” I trailed off, letting my fingers continue instead. I smiled at the clamor coming from inside, figuring that Zora had probably challenged Temba Wide-Arm to an arm-wrestling match.

“You’re not half-bad, ladyship,” [ Bishop ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e1/2e/55/e12e5561422031201afdcb1f56859442.jpg)commented from the shadows, scaring the bejesus out of me.

“Bah! Chrissake, man. Ye scared the bleedin’ hell outta me,” I huffed, adjusting my guitar to make room for him on the bench. He slowly sat beside me, almost warily, like I would attack him. To fill the silence, I kept strumming.

“So,” he started, voice emotionless and guarded. “That’s an instrument from your world?”

“A guitar, aye. Been playin’ for nearly seventeen years now, picked it up so I could play my daddy his favorite song when he came back from his deployment. I, ah, never got the chance to show him. I play a few others, but they don’t exist here.”

“I see.”

After some silence, I switched to another simple tune. The opening melody of an Eagles song filled the air around us. Bishop seemed content to listen, so I began to sing again.

“[ Desperado ](https://youtu.be/3-bwXhts8Zg), why don’t ye come to yer senses? Ye been out ridin’ fences for so long now. Oh, yer a hard one, but I know that ye got your reasons,” I gave Bishop a smile and a nudge with my elbow before continuing. “These things that are pleasing ye can hurt ye somehow.

“Don’t ye draw the queen of diamonds boy, she’ll beat ye if she’s able. Y’know the queen of hearts is always yer best bet. Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon yer table, but ye only want the ones that ye can’t get, Desperado, oh ye ain’t gettin’ no younger, yer pain and yer hunger, they’re driving ye on. And freedom, oh freedom? Well, ain’t ye seen people talking? Yer prison is walking through this world all alone.”

Bishop was paying rapt attention to the music I was creating. I knew I was singing to him, and I knew I was practically playing with fire. He could decide at any moment that he didn’t want to hear the message anymore. I wouldn’t blame him. It’s a hard thing, being told to quit your shit and pull your life together. I imagined it’d be even harder having someone know all about you while you know nothing about them. His amber eyes watched me diligently as I wrapped up the final verse. Silence followed. I swallowed thickly and turned to him.

“Why’d ye come out here, Bishop?”

“Fresh air. I was actually out here before you were, but you didn’t notice me,” he replied, eyes boring into mine.

“Ah. Sorry if I disturbed ye, then,” I sighed. He just smirked back at me.

“Nah, you didn’t. Like I said, you’re not half bad,” he turned away and looked out at the night sky, face turned up to the moonlight.

I couldn’t help but notice how the dim light highlighted his cheekbones and jaw, making his face more angular than before and hiding his faint spattering of freckles away from sight. Before I could think about what I was doing, I had reached out to touch his face. His cheek went tense under my fingertips, coarse stubble brushing against the pads of my fingers. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and I froze.

“Uh, ladyship? Whatcha doing?”

I felt my face turn scarlet as I slowly lowered my hand in shame. “Eh, nothing? Ye just looked… soft?”

 _Oh god, why?_ I cringed to myself. I kept my eyes pointed down towards the wooden boards of the porch, praying he’d just move on.

“Soft, eh?” His voice was laced with mirth. “Hate to break it to you, darling, but I’m not exactly a ‘soft’ kind of guy.”

“I know,” I mumbled, eyes still downcast. I could almost feel his attitude shift.

“Right, you do,” he said quietly. A heartbeat passed, and then, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“The things I’ve done, who I am, what I was. Does it bother you?” Bishop questioned me. I turned to face him, resting my arms on top of my guitar.

“No, none of it. Bishop, yer past doesn’t define ye. Ye knew from the start that yer family wasn’t healthy. Yer dad was a right crock o’ shite. It’s why ye got yerself and Jules out of there. Ye couldn’t have known what would happen, or what Casavir had said to him. What ye did, ye did for survival. I don’t blame ye for any of it,” I finished, staring him firmly in the eyes. He seemed to consider my words, then sighed and dropped his head into his hands. I gently sat my guitar down beside the bench before wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He stiffened at the touch, but didn’t pull away.

“What’s on yer mind, a stór?” I prompted, my thumb rubbing circles on the worn leather of his cuirass. Bishop propped his chin on his fists and turned his head to me.

“I don’t know. I don’t know about any of this. You know everything about me. You had to have been someone special to me for me to tell you all that. Rose, who were you to me back in your world? In your ‘game’?”

Uh-oh. How to explain to him that he was created for the sole purpose of being a sexy, romanceable companion? I awkwardly withdrew my arm from his shoulders and folded my hands in my lap as I thought of what to say. His yellow eyes focused on my reddening cheeks, and his brows lifted.

“Well, um, ye were kind of… my husband? Eventually? And we had a son?” I mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. At this point, I was sure you couldn’t see my freckles anymore for how red my face was. Bishop choked out a surprised laugh.

“Wait, I got married? I was a father?” He sounded utterly confused at the prospect. _At least he didn’t sound disgusted_ , I thought to myself.

“Eh, yeah. That’s actually what ye had been put in the game for… see, ye and Zora aren’t part of the original game. Yer more like expansions? If that makes sense. People can add things on as they wish, and I added yer package along with a few others,” I tried to explain.

“My package, eh?” Bishop grinned, wiggling his bushy eyebrows. I groaned, smacking his shoulder lightly.

“Shut up, ye ninny. Yes, that was part of it. That was a _major_ part of it but shush!”

“Okay, okay. Well, my _wife_ , tell me about our son,” the ranger implored, still smiling raunchily.

“Hm? Well, it took us a bit to come up with names. Frankly we were both worried about being parents. Ye had obvious reasons. But he turned out to be just as good with a bow as ye, and damn ye were proud of him,” I smiled wistfully, remembering back to the conversations between Bishop and our son.

“What did we name him?” Came the quiet question. The ranger’s face was pensive, almost withdrawn.

“Julian. Ye named him Julian, and it was perfect.”

A small, soft smile spread over Bishop’s lips. A real smile, not the mask of bravado he usually wore.

“It _is_ perfect,” he whispered.

The noise inside had died down, and it was getting late. I patted his arm softly and moved to stand, taking my guitar with me. The tall brunette followed suit, opening the inn’s door for me and letting me go first. Back in our room, Farkas and Zora were already asleep in their bed. Well, Zora was. Farkas probably was only in bed in an attempt to blend in because his curse made for fitful sleep. The room was dark, and the candles were snuffed. The only light came from the remaining embers of the fire in the inn’s common room. Farkas raised his head at our approach, and I waved him away. He ducked back down into the furs, seemingly wary of getting too close to Zora. I quietly packed up my guitar, then removed my boots and bracers. When I turned back to where Bishop was sitting on the bed, he had already stripped down to just a pair of linen trousers. I felt my face flush as I motioned for him to turn around. Even in the darkness I knew he rolled his eyes, but he turned nonetheless. I made quick work of my cuirass, tugging it over my head and setting it aside with my other things. My leather pants soon joined them. I fished a brown linen slip out of my travel bag and wiggled into it, then padded over to the bed where I tapped Bishop on the shoulder. The ranger took an appreciative look before he scooted over far enough to make room for both of us. I nestled down with my back to him and pulled the linen sheet over us both, praying that neither of us would get too handsy during the night.

†———————†

I woke up laying on my stomach with my arms pillowed beneath my head and a weight on my lower back. As I cracked open my eyes, I came face to face with the spiky-haired man whose arm held me loosely. His yellow eyes held some amusement in the light of the early sunrise as he squeezed my side in greeting. I grunted and turned my face into my arms, dreading getting up in a world that didn’t have energy drinks. I could hear Bishop laugh and felt his breath get close to my ear.

“Better wake up, Rosie, or I’m going to have to get you up by force,” the ranger warned. Sleepy me didn’t care about consequences, I just wanted to sleep in. A heartbeat passed, and then, “Alright, suit yourself.”

Suddenly, his fingers were dancing along my ribcage from where his arm rested. Immediately I shot up and tried to wiggle away from my attacker, to no avail. The monster had taken advantage of my semi-conscious state and sat on the backs of my legs, effectively pinning me face-down. He now had better access to both of my sides, which he gave equal abuse. My squeals of terror didn’t go unanswered either. Zora poked her head into the room to see what all the fuss was about, and for the first time I noticed that both she and Farkas had been gone when I woke up. Upon seeing my dilemma, she simply told Bishop to knock it off now that I was awake so we could get moving. Having been given a good enough reason for doing so, he ceased his onslaught of tickles and sat back but still didn’t let me up.

“I warned you,” he stated triumphantly. I could practically hear his smug smirk. A rough fingertip began tracing where my upper back was exposed from my nightdress. “I’ve never seen tattoos like this. They’re so… _feminine_.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I suppose ye wouldn’t have. I have quite a few, actually. Had to get ‘em in places that wouldn’t affect my professional career. Here, get off me an’ I’ll show ye some,” I yawned.

“Your world doesn’t like tattoos?” Bishop inquired as he moved off of me and to the side so I could sit up properly instead of propping myself up on my elbows. I shook my head.

“No, they’re not like war paint or tribal markings like they used to be. I mean, they can be, but a lot of people have done some right stupid shite with them. Plus, people in my world live upwards of seventy years old. Hell, we’re starting to only stop working at seventy and even then most of us can’t afford to not work. With longer lifespans and nothing like dragons or ogres to kill us, those tattoos get wrinkly eventually. Ever seen an old lady with cherries tattooed on her ass cheek? Not a pretty sight,” I explained. Bishop grimaced in understanding.

“And for you? What are your tattoos?”

“Up on my [ back ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fc/f4/cf/fcf4cf05439ab05747ffa227474af21c.jpg)there, those flowers cover about half of my upper back. Here, lemme just - don’t make this weird, okay? I swear I’ll feed ye to Fastred’s pigs if ye get any ideas about what’s going on here,” I warned him as I turned so my back was facing him, pulled the sheet around my lap, held part of it to my chest with my chin and then pulled my nightdress up over my back to rest on my neck. There. I was covered effectively, plus I was still in my bra and underwear. With a slightly muffled voice and more chin-rolls than I used to have, I called back to him. “Get a good look, ‘cuz I won’t be doing this again!”

Bishop snorted. I decided he’d had long enough to look, lowered my slip back to its normal position and turned to face him again. He was still chuckling to himself.

“And what’s so funny, eh?” I challenged, poking his bare chest.

“I married an idiot is what’s funny,” the ranger grinned as he poked my [ collarbone tattoo ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b7/01/68/b70168a49c07216d516d45355739f495.jpg) in retaliation. I felt my face turn red and I groaned in annoyance. “What’s that one?”

“It’s my star sign constellation, but made with flowers instead of stars. Don’t say that stuff, Bishop! We’re not married here, and it’s so different because ye were a fictional character then and here yer _a living, breathing person!_ ” By the end of that, I was holding my forehead in my palm and staring exasperatedly at the floor. I didn’t even have to look to know Bishop didn’t care, that he was reveling in how uncomfortable I was.

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad am I?” He teased. “Come on, any more tattoos? The longer we take, the grumpier Farkas gets and the less time I spend on a horse with Zora.”

“Hey, those are my friends yer talkin’ about!” I growled. “But yes, I do have three more. I’ve got this on my [ ankle ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1184/2886/files/4_large_53943339-fb0d-4693-b78e-aef5287a70a3_2048x2048.jpg?v=1531459244) . They’re called forget-me-nots, I got it for my father, because I know he’s still with me every step of the way. The other two are on my [ ribs ](http://www.tattoostime.com/images/492/Ribcage-Claddagh-Tattoo.jpg) and [ hip ](https://stayglam.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/Flower-and-Butterfly-Thigh-Tattoo.jpg), and ye won’t be seeing those anytime soon.”

“So there’s hope?” He asked with that stupid grin still in his voice as I got off the bed to gather my armor.

“Shut up, Bishop.”

We geared up fast, mostly because Bishop didn’t argue when I asked for modesty as I clambered into my armor. Since Farkas and Zora were already prepared for the day and loaded the horses with their belongings, it was left up to us to pick up the slack. After a quick breakfast of a chicken breast and an apple, we hit the road. My favorite werewolf had been so kind as to buy me an entire flagon of lavender and honey tea, the alchemical properties creating a delicious tea version of a restore stamina potion. I sipped it happily as we resumed our pace from yesterday - faster than a leisurely stroll through the countryside, but easier than an overzealous JROTC cadet who’s captain of the A-team Raiders and it’s the 5k road march at Best of the Best. Sometime along the road, I had decided to pull out my guitar and give us some [ music ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLcYE6WoNib7R0fuIJr5y6zx-mjgBDVqFh)to accompany our journey. Although the first song I selected wasn’t much loved, the rest created a nice atmosphere to travel in. I wasn’t worried too much about the prospect of someone sneaking up on us, as Farkas’ beastblood enhanced his senses. I had just finished the Stable Song when we entered the salt flats of Eastmarch. As I directed us south, I put my guitar away. Things got dangerous from here, and we were getting close to Cragslane.

“Alright, now. Cragslane isn’t just a pitfighting den,” I warned my friends as we neared the slope leading to the cave. “It’s a skooma ring, too. Everyone will fight twice as hard to protect it, y’see? I know I don’t need to say it, but be on yer guard.”

“Maybe you should stay here,” Farkas frowned as I dismounted Spíosra, grabbing my shoulder to steady me as I stumbled.

“No, I want to come with ye. I promise I’ll stay back and out o’ the way. I’m no delicate flower, Farkas. I need to learn to fight to survive in this world,” I argued. He sighed.

“Fine, but if you get attacked, you run, got it? Kodlak will kill me if I go back to Jorrvaskr with just your corpse,” the hulking werebeast grudgingly agreed. I nodded, knowing full well I wouldn’t follow his directions.

We continued up the hill with our weapons drawn. Compared to Zora and Farkas with their greatswords and Bishop with his bow, my little steel dagger felt increasingly obsolete. The guard outside of the cave was alerted by the clanking of Farkas’ armor, but an arrow to the face from Bishop ended his life before he could draw his sword. Zora and I stood in front of the cages on the other side of the bandit’s camp. The wolves inside were half-starved and one was bleeding badly.

“Come on, ladies. Nothing we can do for these ones, now,” Bishop urged us along. Zora sighed sadly and moved away, but I stayed put. Farkas’ heavy hand fell upon my shoulder.

“No, Rose,” he tried.

“Come on, Farkas. Can’t ye do somethin’ for them?” I implored, then turned back to the injured one. It was a snowy gray one, with dark ears and big white paws. It lay slumped in the far back corner, hiding its bloody leg from us.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Even if I can, our first job is to get Bishop’s wolf and take care of these bandits.”

“Right. And if ye could do anything, ye’d have to do it away from everyone else to protect the Circle. I understand.”

With a heavy heart, I joined the others. Bishop leaned into the mouth of the cave with an arrow knocked, letting his eyes adjust to the light. A moment later, he loosed the arrow, and a soft _whump_ could be heard inside. The bouncer was down. As we all filed inside, I took the lead. Creeping softly to the bottom of the slope, I found Karnwyr’s cage. Even though he was friendly in-game, I made sure to keep my fingers away from the bars. A cornered animal, no matter how tame, could still attack if it felt threatened. The russet-furred wolf seemed curious, but kept back a few feet as I fiddled with the lock. I had no lockpicks, and no idea how to pick a lock, but I’d be damned if I asked Bishop to do it for me. The lock was badly rusted, making it brittle as a result. Struck by a sudden inspiration, I untied one of the empty pouched from my belt.

“Move back a ways, bud,” I whispered to Karnwyr as I wrapped the leather around the hilt of my dagger. “I’m gonna get ye out of here.”

The wolf shuffled to the back of the cage, and I praised Kyne for making such a smart creature, although I supposed it was really Mara’s doing. With the sound now able to be muffled, I brought the hilt down onto the lock. Only a muffled _clang_ could be heard. I grinned at my genius. Two more solid whacks, and the lock separated from the latch. I couldn’t even get out of the way before the wolf inside nosed the gate open, then barreled me over to get to Bishop. Once the ranger was sufficiently knocked on his ass, Karnwyr began covering his chin in playful nibbles. _Thank you, brother! Happy! Thank you!_

“Get off me!” Bishop laughed as he pushed at his wolf’s snout. “Damned mutt. What were you thinking, getting lost and making me track you all the way out here?”

Karnwyr lowered his head with a whine and laid his ears back. _Sorry, brother!_ Bishop just rolled his eyes and gave the wolf a vigorous scratch between the ears. Karnwyr’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and his demeanor perked up. It was quite a touching reunion, once I was back on my feet. His focus turned to the rest of us, golden eyes taking us in. He trotted towards Farkas and immediately rolled over onto his back, exposing his bare stomach and vulnerable throat. _Alpha, you are alpha wolf here!_ The werewolf blinked in surprise, then bent down and grabbed Karnwyr by the neck. Bishop moved to intervene, and I held my hand out to stop him. The red-haired wolf whimpered, a placating smile on his lips. _Yes, I submit! I do not challenge you!_ Farkas bared his teeth in a snarl for just a moment, then removed his hand and stood up.

“I’ve never seen him act like that,” Bishop murmured with a raised eyebrow while watching his wolf prance around, happily wagging his tail. “He just called you his alpha.”

Farkas shrugged. “Wolves are strange. You’ve had him since he was a cub, right? That might have something to do with it. He didn’t grow up in a proper pack, so he might see us as a pack.”

“Either way, we’ve got some bandits to kill. Let’s go,” Zora said, rolling her shoulders.

“Right, I’ll charge in to get their attention. Zora, you follow me and watch my back. Bishop, cover us with your bow. Rose, stay with him,” Farkas delegated to us our positions, to which we all agreed. “Here we go!”

With a war cry, the enormous man rushed around the corner, down the platform, and into the throng of gamblers with Zora close behind. Bishop took his place behind some bags of produce, firing at the bartender’s thigh and any archers. Karnwyr went to town on the bartender, happily ripping chunks of flesh from the Dunmer’s body. The cacophony drew the butcher from the back, Nordic greatsword held high as he ran straight for Zora, whose back was turned. My heart dropped. I threw my dagger in complete panic. It landed hilt-deep directly in his eye socket, much to my surprise. The steel-clad Dunmer dropped like a stone just behind Zora, his greatsword clattering to the ground. Bishop nudged me with his elbow.

“Nice throw, ladyship!” He grinned. “But just so you know, I totally had that shot and was about to take it.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I sighed. My hands were shaky. “I guess I just freaked out.”

With the area clear, we joined the others at the pit. Karnwyr barked happily, bringing his master the severed arm of the bartender. Bishop took it with a grimace, tossing it to the other side of the cave. The wolf yipped and gave chase.

“So, what now?” Farkas asked.

“Loot the cave, leave and make camp for the night. We won’t be able to make it back to Ivarstead by nightfall,” Bishop answered, picking up the bloodied arm again and throwing it farther away this time.

“Sounds like a plan. What do we do with the skooma?” Zora asked. Bishop opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

“We dump it and smash the bottles,” I responded with a glare in the ranger’s direction.

“But we could sell it! Or keep it for ourselves,” he muttered. I smacked him across the cheek.

“I don’ care how much it sells for, ye fool! It’s poison, an’ I’m no lettin’ ye or anyone else fall to it!” I growled, my annoyance rising as one of my curls chose that moment to come free and fall in front of my face.

Bishop was silent. A splotchy red mark was starting to grow on his cheekbone. I swallowed thickly, knowing I shouldn’t have slapped him. Hesitantly, I reached out to cup his cheek.

“Bishop, I -”

“Don’t,” his voice was a whispered hiss as he caught my wrist mid-air. Karnwyr whined and pushed his wet nose into his brother’s empty hand.  _Sad? Why?_

Bishop dropped my arm and turned away, making his way to the back room where the butcher’s lair was. The rest of us awkwardly dispersed, with Farkas looting the bodies and Zora and I headed towards the bar. My movements were monotonous as I used my dagger for leverage, slipping it between the lid and the body of the chest and pushing down to crack open the weak lock. I passed a few sacks of gold to Zora and shoved some bottles of mead into my bag alongside a few healing potions. I had enough room, so I grabbed the book under the counter and both bottles of wine from the bar. I was about to join Farkas in the center of the cavern when Zora grabbed my arm.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?”

Her hazel eyes were full of concern and her voice was soft. I sighed.

“I shouldn’t have hit him, Zee. I was mad, but it didn’t give me the right. Now he won’t even talk to me,” I said morosely. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

“You two will work it out, I promise. He seems to really like you,” she encouraged into my hair. “Besides, you got him his wolf back! He won’t be mad for long.”

“I hope not,” I agreed, hugging her back. “Come on, I wanna see if there’s any food that isn’t spoiled.”

“Good idea,” Zora laughed, then moved away. “Oh, and thanks for saving me.”

“What are best friends for, if not saving each others asses? It was a lucky throw, anyways,” I grinned at her as we headed to the back room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering how Desperado would be possible on a solo acoustic guitar, you should hear the Johnny Cash version.  
> Translations:  
> *may the cat eat you, and the devil eat the cat  
> *to hell with you  
> *Spice, or spice-cake (SPEERS-reh)


	6. Midnight on the Mountain

Bishop still wouldn’t even acknowledge me after we left the cave, so I stayed with Zora while we lead the horses to a clear area in the salt flats. We’d decided to make camp by the hotsprings. I had found enough food to make side dishes for dinner, but someone would still need to hunt for the main course, which Farkas volunteered to do. Zora gave me a pointed look as she offered to go find enough firewood to last us the night. That left me with Karnwyr and Bishop. As Zora and Farkas left the clearing to do their designated jobs, I nervously unpacked our camping supplies from Spíosra. The red roan whickered complacently. Without a word, I passed two of the single-person tents to Bishop and began setting up my own two. Each tent had sturdy wooden poles and thick leather flysheets with beeswax waterproofing. I figured Farkas had borrowed them from the Companions. With Bishop and I both working, camp was set up in a half hour. It would probably be another half hour before the others returned, so I brought out my guitar to attempt to pass the time. Karnwyr nosed at the steel strings, sniffing at the medley of wax, glue, resin, and the faintest hint Bosmer. A particularly aggressive inhale vibrated the strings and produced sound, which startled the wolf. He barked at it with ears perked high.  _ Strange noise! How? No smell. Noise friendly?  _ Even with my dour mood, I had to chuckle at least a little. Because I lacked a capo, I was forced to tune my strings three half-steps up. When I started to play, Karnwyr sat back on his haunches with his head cocked in confusion. The main theme from  [ Howl’s Moving Castle ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Z603ccaj74) came dancing from my fingertips. I couldn’t bring myself to sing, but the music calmed me nonetheless. 

Even in the relative quiet, Bishop’s silent presence was deafening. Knowing he was there and knowing he was angry at me was crushing. Once again, I was brought back to thinking about how difficult it was having these interactions with them now that this world was real, compared to when it was just a game. When all I had to do was choose between pre-determined dialogue options, getting to know people and forming relationships was incredibly easy. I found solace in it then, since my real-life interpersonal relationships were rocky at best. I maintained an easy acquaintanceship with my stand partner in the Symphony, but we weren’t that close. My high school best friends had long since faded out of touch, gone away to universities across the country or started their own families. My siblings had their own priorities. My mother focused on Sabrina and her litter of brats since they still lived in Boston proper like her. My older brothers had moved out of state to be closer to their wives’ families, and my little brother Eoghan was busy trying to graduate from Boston University. The only one who would really care to reach out to me, to even notice I was missing would be my father, but he was gone. I was so deep in my thoughts that when Bishop spoke, it startled me.

“Eh? Sorry, what’d ye say?” I asked, not having comprehended his words the first time.

“I said you didn’t sing. Why?” He repeated. He was sharpening his dagger with a whetstone, not looking at me either out of pride or out of concentration on his task. 

“Oh, that. I just didn’t feel like it,” I shrugged. That made him pause and look up.

“You always feel like singing,” he said with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I fidgeted with my hands and kept my gaze away from him. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. I haven’t been here long but I know the difference between your normal happy self and what you’re acting like right now,” he argued. He abandoned his dagger and stone, choosing to plonk himself right in front of me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Yer acting like ye actually care,” I grumbled. I still wouldn’t meet his eyes, thought it was more difficult now that he was almost eye-level with me.

“Who says I do? Damnit woman - why are you being so stubborn?”

“Maybe because I feel bad? Eh? Ye didn’t think I’d feel the least bit guilty for smackin’ ye?” I snapped. In hindsight, it was kind of hilarious to see his face blank as realization dawned on him. He smacked his palm against his forehead and glared at me.

“Really, Rose? All this time you thought I was still upset about that?” The ranger huffed a bitter laugh. My face went slack. “Have a little faith in me.”

Relief and rage intertwined like twin snakes, reaching out to bite at Bishop in a flurry of scales and fangs.

“Ye absolute gobshite! How dare ye? Ach! Ye right bloody bastard, go hlfreann leat,” I raved, striking the sneaky man with a whirlwind of weak slaps to the torso. Like a fire attack against a water-type, it wasn’t very effective. In fact, it only caused him to laugh harder as he easily blocked my hands.

“Your accent gets stronger when you get mad,” the infuriating man grinned, holding my wrists hostage.

I rolled my eyes and made to counter his comment with a scathing retort, but we were interrupted by Karnwyr’s growl.  _ Humans! Intruders! Danger!  _ The russet-furred wolf, with his ears pinned to his head, stalked slowly forward until he stood between the two of us and whatever intruder he had detected.  _ Danger, intruders! _ The sun blinded us momentarily, then Zora and Farkas strode over the slight hill and into the clearing around our camp. With a sharp whistle, Bishop called Karnwyr off. The wolf went from growling monster to happy pup in a split second, bounding back over to his brother and butting his head against his shoulder. Zora held an enormous amount of deadwood in her arms and had even more tied in bundles to her back like a quiver of arrows. Farkas lugged a deer carcass behind him, and I had to marvel at the sheer strength of the man, though I didn’t know if it came from the beastblood or from the rigorous hours spent training. Either way, I was delighted at the promise of fresh meat and a chance to be a little less useless than I had been on this endeavor so far.

“I see you two have made up,” Zora commented with a sly wink in my direction, which I promptly ignored. “Good, now you can help with all this and it won’t be as awkward.”

“Oh, hush ye,” I chided. “Farkas, dear, can ye do me a favor and hang that buck on that tree there? Hope that branch holds, ye got a big boy there - no, pup, back legs first! There ye go. I’ll handle the skinnin’ and guttin’ now, just let me change into somethin’ already dirty.”

I packed up my guitar and tucked it away into my tent, then slipped into an outfit I had snagged from Cragslane. It took all of two seconds to toss my hair up into a bun and secure it with my only hair tie. Emerging back into the low dusk light, I unsheathed my dagger and got to work.

Butchering the deer was simple, as I had helped my father gut any deer he caught when I was younger. I continued to hunt even after he passed, joining a local club and going on hunts every now and then when I had time. I did my best to bat Karnwyr’s muzzle away from the discarded bowels and stomach, but let him have the lungs, liver, and heart. The greedy wolf still lingered by the edge of my work area, so I tossed him the forelegs to gnaw on while I stripped the pelt from the carcass. Since the fire was ready and roaring now, I handed the hunks of meat to Farkas as I sheared them from the body. In the end, the remains of the deer amounted to the ribcage, pelvis, and neck stump. I felt pride in how thorough I had been, doing my best not to waste any meat and making sure to keep the hide in tact for future use. Our small encampment had fallen into a rhythm, with me handling the deer, Farkas cooking the meat, Bishop peeling and slicing apples, and Zora scraping together a hodgepodge of dishes, cutlery, and drinks for us. With the deer all cleaned up, I took over Bishop’s job of making the apples. It wasn’t long before our dinner of venison and cinnamon apples was ready.

The night had darkened, and the fire had become our only light source outside of the raging band of stars above us. We had fallen into a comfortable silence comprised of full bellies and sleepy minds, not minding the lapse in our guards until Karnwyr started growling up a storm for the second time that day. The four of us were immediately on high alert. Out in the darkness, just past the firelight’s safe glow, hovered a pair of gleaming eyes. Only one pair, one enemy. Bishop hushed Karnwyr, who fell silent but kept his teeth bared in a snarl. Ever so slowly, the figure abandoned the darkness and crept into the ring of firelight.

Our latest company was a bedraggled silver wolf sporting a heavy limp. I recognized it as one of the pit wolves that had been caged outside of Cragslane Cavern, the one with the injured leg. So, Farkas had been able to release them after all. The wolf padded up to Karnwyr, unafraid, and bared its throat.  _ I do not challenge you _ , it was saying. Karnwyr nosed at the strange wolf’s exposed throat, growled low, then backed off.  _ You are below me. _ The silver wolf, given permission to approach now, stopped at Farkas’ feet and flopped onto its back.  _ You are alpha. I do not challenge you.  _ Farkas crouched down and repeated the same actions he did with Karnwyr. The new wolf rolled over onto its stomach and began licking at its leg. I cautiously approached it, marvelling at how close I was getting to this wild animal. Sure, Karnwyr was a wild wolf, but he was raised from a cub to be around humans. The wolf glanced at me, but paid me no mind as I gently sat next to it. Being closer now, I could see it was a female. I held my fist out shakily, nervous about losing fingers but wanting her to trust me. The she-wolf gave me a hasty warning growl, then sniffed my closed fist. She visibly relaxed, allowing me to shuffle closer until I my knee pressed  into the snowy fur of her shoulder. An idea crept into my brain, and I asked Farkas to pass me a cure disease potion, a strong healing potion, and a hunk of leftover venison. I used my dagger to make deep slits in the meat so the potions would absorb better, then poured both red bottles out slowly, making sure that as much of the liquid sank in as possible before placing the meat next to the she-wolf. She barely even sniffed it before tearing into it with intense vigor, a flurry of jagged white teeth. It was gone in seconds, and so was the gash on the wolf’s leg.

With her wound healed and hunger briefly sated, she transformed into a whole new wolf. Her black ears perked up and her wet nose snuffled at my hands in search of more food. She stood, shook off her snowy pelt, and swiped her tongue gently over my jaw.  _ Thank you, pack-sister. _ She trotted over to Karnwyr and swivled her ears, looking into his eyes.  _ We hunt, brother. _ Karnwyr’s response was immediate, with him giving a yip and darting off into the night, the white wolf following close behind. 

“Huh. Looks like Karnwyr found a girlfriend,” Bishop commented.

“Hopefully they come back. I was already thinking of names for her!” I complained. Farkas just rolled his eyes.

“They’ll come back. Karnwyr wouldn’t leave Bishop. Come on, we should get to sleep. It’s been a long day, my thane. And I’d like to rest as much as possible before I have to ride all day with Bishop again tomorrow,” Zora yawned.

“Don’t ye worry, Zora, I’ll ride with the ranger. Ye been plenty patient with him, but I fear what happens when ye snap!” I laughed. “Yer right though, we best be gettin’ to sleep now. Good night ev’ryone.”

“Goodnight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! I'm SO sorry I've left y'all without an update for over a month. Good news is, I've graduated with my associates, so that takes a lot of pressure off. Even better, my health situation is improving immensely. A quick insight to my health - I have severe Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTS, narcolepsy, and chronic debilitating migraines. My MIDAS score was 130 back in March when I last updated. I'm happy to report that I'm down to 1-2 headache days per week instead of 6-7 per week! Aimovig appears to be my miracle drug. Not being trapped in bed all day will give me much more time to write! Of course, I'll be shooting for longer chapters, but this was just what I'd scraped together over the past month and a half. See you soon!


	7. Hiatus Announcement

For anyone who has been holding out hopes for this story, I’m sorry. I have so much planned for it, but my health is just getting worse and worse. My migraines are out of control. I can barely get out of bed. So, I’m putting this story on an indefinite hiatus. I don’t plan to fully abandon it. This is just until I can get well enough to start writing again. I’m working with doctors and going through some aggressive treatment. The time for conservative treatment is over. I’m losing my life by laying in bed in the dark all the time. I refuse to give up, even if I end up needing surgery.

I’ll see you all before long.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first piece on this site. It's been nagging at me for ages to be written and published. I hope this goes well.
> 
> Rosalin is not a self-insert, or at least I'm desperately trying not to make her one. I do play those instruments, though I would need copious amounts of bleach and dye to achieve her hair color.


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